WeyrWatch
by Inuhsien
Summary: Plenty has been written about what happens at the start of a Pass on Pern, but how does the planet react to a change over from fighting Threadfall to the long Intervals during which the Weyrs are no longer needed to fight the voracious Thread? Set at the end of the fourth Pass. (Mostly canon.) (Next update last week of September)
1. Chapter 1

B'ton, Weyrleader of Telgar Weyr, sat astride his bronze Wubath, and looked down at the Bowl, where the weyrlings were filling bags with firestone. With Threadfall due the next morning, the flighted weyrlings were practicing going between from the Star Stones to Lemos Hold and back, a precautionary measure the Weyr had adopted early in the current Pass.

The current Pass. B'ton's thoughts lingered over the phrase. In three more Turns Thread would no longer menace Pern. In three more Turns... Wubath rumbled under him.

"You're right," B'ton laughed, and slapped the dragon's neck affectionately. "Let's go see what my brother wants." Eagerly, the bronze sprang aloft, strong wingbeat in the thin autumn air. He circled once, surveying the Weyr, then went between.

Mebeckle stood silently surveying the Threadbare valley. Loose topsoil blew away or sluiced into the little stream running down the middle. A shadow fell over the journeyman Farmer, but the short man didn't turn as the bronze dragon landed. Respectfully, B'ton dismounted and approached before speaking.

"You called?" He asked with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. Mebeckle turned then, and smiled wanly at his younger brother. B'ton felt a pang of worry, as the Farmer's face was indelibly marked with sorrow.

"Thank you for coming." He pointed to the sterile valley below. "This used to be a wooded valley, before the beginning of the Pass."

"Yes?" B'ton suspected he knew where this conversation was headed, having had a similar one only three days before with the Lord Holder of Telgar.

"Hardwoods take fifty Turns to mature." Mebeckle said. "You tell me that four times the amount of time will pass during the Interval. One could get four harvests before the Weyr needed the valley cleared again."

B'ton blinked. "Hardwoods?" He considered the valley, having expected to hear a protracted argument in favor of terracing. Trees however...

"Are you asking that we expand our coverage?" He asked tentatively. Not having to protect this particular valley meant that much shorter a Fall to fight, as the valley was the first in a series of canyon lands that ended in the mountains.

Mebeckle blinked in turn. "What? No, of course not. It'll take several Turns to nurture the seedlings before we could transplant them to the valley, and at the very least two Turns before we could build a proper cothold for the foresters." He shook his head. "No, what I'm hoping is that you will back me when I propose expanding the forestlands, after the Pass."

"When the Pass is over, I readily expect every fingerlength of Pern able to bear fruit to be put under plow." B'ton placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "And I'll be the first in line to champion it."

Mebeckle smiled again, this time in relief. "My thanks, the rumors-"

"About C'seld of Benden?" B'ton grimaced. "Don't let that old fool bother you. I see no reason to sear vegetation that can do no harm and a whole lot of good." He gave his brother a squeeze. "Can I talk you into attending the Hatching? You need some time back with us, don't stay shut up in your cot with only her memories." B'ton coaxed him, trying to be as gentle as he could, in referring somewhat inelegantly to Mebeckle's loss.

The short Farmer shook his head. "My Holder won't like it, being so deep into the harvest as we are."

B'ton fell silent for a moment, thinking.

"How many untrained harvesters could you make use of?" He asked slowly, the seed of an idea germinating.

Mebeckle studied the bronzerider uncertainly. "As many as you can send my way. Why?"

B'ton grinned. "I have forty-two weyrlings needing keeping out of trouble between Falls. Do you think your holder will object to a little extra help?"

Mebeckle stared at him for a long moment, then much to B'ton's pleased surprise, began laughing.

"Oh, aye, if you send them, I'll come to the Hatching, and be glad of it!"

* * *

Reelon leaned against the door jam and watched the creek wind its way past the small beast hold. A journeyman of the beastcraft, his small cot hold had been very productive these last ten Turns. Not only had his breeding program produced small but sturdy bovine herdbeasts, he had managed to breed a herd of sheep with silkier wool. It was, as he had suspected when he first read about the trait in Craft records, a recessive trait. He smiled faintly in memory of the first bag of spun wool he had presented to the main Hold's weavers. Master Thursk had been summoned by a very excited journeyman, and gladly gave Reelon twice his asking price. The herdcaftsman smiled. One good shearing, and he could see financing his eldest's education at the Beasthall.

Charel, his eldest, trotted out of the stable, runnerbeast in tow.

"Pa!" A smile lit her face and warmed Reelon's heart at the sight of his twelve Turn old daughter. "I was just heading out. Do you want me to bring the herd to the creek side corral, or north pasture?

"Creek side. Let them get their fill of water before we leave." He replied, glad not to be riding. The small bones in his left foot still hurt after too long in the saddle, even some six Turns after the black cow had stepped on his foot.

"Yes sir!" Charel swung up into the saddle with enough enthusiasm to make the runner grunt. Laughing, she kicked it into a trot and waved as she departed up the dusty tract for the high pasturage.

"Is Charrie off to collect the tithe?" Gwedli, asked from inside the cot. Reelon turned to face his lovely wife, heavy with her fifth child. He joined her, taking the basket of fresh linens from her, kissing her on the cheek.

"That she is, best beloved. Where would you like these?" He asked, sailing out of the room with the laundry. Gwedli laughed softly, for despite the three previous pregnancies she still couldn't convince him to let her do the chores without his assistance.

"Medical closet, with the rest of them." She called, and sat down in the rocking chair he had traded his best milk-cow for. Smiling at his gestures, she picked up her needlepoint and worked on her Naming Day gift for Charel.

* * *

Charel made good time, and before the sun had made its zenith was whistling the bovines into a tight group. Her shaggy canine dashed to and fro catching any stragglers of the young herdbeasts. One, a young bull, bellowed a challenge only to earn a switch across the rump for misbehavior. The majority of this group, to be sent onto the Telgar Weyr to feed the appetites of the Weyr's hardworking dragons, was male, and idly Charel wondered if all that testosterone was good for them. She filed that question away with the others she had about dragon kin, knowing her father hadn't made the Weyr beasts a priority in his studies. She grinned suddenly. Let him not be curious about the brave dragons that charred the deadly Threads from the sky, but if she was ever to make it to the Beasthall she would insist on being trained in their care and maintenance along with all the other animals on Pern. Berk, her herding canine, barked, pulling her out of her daydreams. Whistling, she kicked her runner into a trot, and steered the herd down the path back to the cot.

Tibitha, her little sister, no more than four Turns was watching for the herd, and waved to Charel as the herd filed out of the slot canyon that the track ran through. The herdbeasts willingly continued on as she pulled her runner to a stop by her sibling, eager as they were for the creek just past the gates of the corral.

"Yes Tiblet?" Charel asked, smiling at fair haired little sister.

Tibitha first handed her a water skin, then told her lanky older sister all about the three men that had arrived a little after lunch.

"No beasts?" Charel was surprised, usually the help came with herdbeasts of their own.

"No, Pa said they was pastured at Doubleback." Tibitha said, carefully pronouncing her 'r's and 'l's.

"Makes sense, no point bringing the whole mess of them down here. Tell Ma and Pa I'm back, and I'll be in as soon as I brush out Star." Charel nodded, handing back the waterskin, and nudging her runner over to the corral gate, closing it as her sister trotted down to the cot. She then headed her beast after and to the stable, unsaddling Star and making quick work of currying the runner as it enjoyed a drink from the bucket in its stall. Done making sure the runner was taken care of and no longer able to procrastinate Charel returned to the cot, whistling to cover her slight discomfort. She'd seen the paint runner coming down the hill from the corral, and didn't fancy meeting its rider.

"She's here, she here!" Cried a chorus of voices, and twins Durzi and Relecca race out to greet her. Charel grinned at her sisters, identical brunettes. Where she was her father's help mate, the twins had been her mother's shadows, and most of the cot chores were divided between the two of them. The girls each seized a hand and dragged her inside the cot common room.

The furniture had been rearranged and pushed against the far wall to accommodate the 'gather table' where food was being placed out.

"Charrie, go wash up." Her mother called from the kitchen.

"Yes'm." Charel slipped free from her sisters, and not seeing the guests or her father hurried to down the stairs past the cold room. At the other end of the passage was the bathing room. It had been meant to be an extension on the storage room, but the diggers had misjudged the depth of the water table, and flooded two thirds of the room. Undaunted, her parents had put in a drain pipe and a bath tub, water for which Charel drew directly from the pool of water. It was a little chill, but it felt so good to wash off the trail dust. Charel made quick work of the bath, her belly rumbling, complaining that the bread and meatrolls from lunch hadn't been quite enough. Clean, and in 'cot' cloths (the soft tunic and pants that her mother insisted her wear around the cot) she returned to the kitchen, to be of whatever help she could.

The twins had things well in hand though, and shooed her into the common room, where her parents and the three drovers sat around the gather table, enjoying some sour beer.

"Here she is, our loyal fifth~!" Reelon said as she entered, and pointed to the empty chair next to him.

"Hello." She greeted the drovers with a shy smile, slipping into place.

"Charrie?" The oldest of the drovers blinked at her. "You've sprung up like a wild vine."

"Three fingerlengths since last Turn." Reelon said with pride. Charel smiled bashfully, but privately wondered what height had to do with anything. Surely her skill mattered more to the other drovers, since this Turn she was going to accompany them on delivering the tithe.

"She's tall enough, I'll grant you, but are you sure a _girl's_ tough enough for the road?" The other older drover asked, causing Charel to blink in astonishment. If her height had nothing to do with it, why would her _gender_?

"She's already slept out in the birthing pasture these past three springs, how is the tithe trail going to be any harder?" Her father said with an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Eh, if Reelon says she can handle it, she can." Said Branth, the third drover, causing Charel to blink a second time. She certainly hadn't expected help from that quarter, and uneasily she wondered if he was being agreeable less because he thought she was qualified and more because he liked to look her over the same way her father studied cattle.

"If you're certain, Branth." The oldest shrugged. "The more the merrier." He glanced back at Charel. "But mind girl, iffin' you run afoul rustlers, you make a fuss, no foolish heroics, you understand me?"

"Yes sir." Charel nodded, knowing well the dangers of cattle rustlers. Her father had an ugly scar along his left arm where a rustler's blade had cut when he startled them in the act.

"It's settled then?" Reelon asked the remaining drover, who merely nodded. "Good, let's eat. Durzi! Relecca! Surely that stew is ready by now!" He called back to the kitchen.

* * *

Charel laid in her bed, watching the stars through the window at the head of her bed, the window open to catch the night breeze. Thread wasn't due for another four days, so she enjoyed the sweetness of the night air while she could. Tibitha was already sound asleep in her sleeping furs when there was a soft knock at her door.

"I'm awake."

The door opened and her father stood there, holding a single glow to light his way. Charel sat up to make room on her bed for him to sit down.

"Evening Charrie." He said, sitting down on the bed and glancing out the window, his gaze far and away.

"Evening, Pa. Is... is there something wrong, with me going?" During and after dinner she had wanted to ask, but there never seemed to be a good time.

"What? No, no pup, not t'all." He pat her foot. "But I did want to warn you about a couple of things, seeing as we're going to go through the main Hold. First... don't be too surprised if people don't believe you if you say you can do something."

"You mean because I'm a girl?" Reelon swallowed the laugh at her honest puzzlement.

"Yes, Charrie, I am sorry about that. Some folk- a lot of folk you're going to meet are going to think you can't keep up with the men because of your plumbing." He explained, smiling at her.

Charel snorted. "That's just plain dumb."

"Eheh, some folk are. 'Specially up at the Hold. You'll have less problems in the Crafthall, but you will find it there too."

"What should I do about it, Pa?" Charel asked, sensing there was more to this conversation than just a fatherly warning.

"Don't take it personal, for one. Folks that say dumb things are usually speaking from a place of ignorance. Secondly, if they want an example, 'specially of something that is dangerous, don't do it." He gave her a meaningful glance. "Just 'cause you can swim, or rope, or break runners, doesn't mean you should ever let them goad you into a situation where failure means getting badly injured."

"Yes sir." Charel replied, and hugged her knees to her.

"Also, if Old Larst offers you a sword, refuse him."

Charel blinked. "Why...?"

"A sword is like any other tool, pup. If you don't know how to use it, you'll only endanger yourself." Reelon explained.

"Understood. But... isn't that the case of sticking the pointy end into your attacker?" She asked curiously.

Reelon laughed.

"Yes, so it is, but just like using needlethorn is sticking the business end into a beast you have to know where and how to jab. If you're offered a sword, Charrie, politely refuse. I'll see to it that you're kitted with a field knife. "

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, lastly, you keep your eyes and ears open while we're on the road, 'specially when you're around Branth." Reelon's deeply shadowed face took on a somber expression. Charel sagged in relief. So her father hadn't missed the looks the drover was giving her!

"In fact, I'd rather you stay close to me whenever we're not working. Even if I snore worse than Berk." He smiled faintly at her, and Charel smiled weakly back.

"Yes sir. ...And thank you, Pa."

Internally Reelon winced, knowing Charel had been spooked by Branth's behavior. The girl was just clever enough, and watchful enough to catch all sorts of subtle signals the young drover was giving her. It was why she was so good with the animals, but made her nervous around people. Not for the first time he wondered if it had been the right thing to raise his family so far from others.

"Alright then, you get a good night's rest, pup, we're leaving at first light."

"Yes sir!" They hugged good night and Reelon withdrew, leaving Charel to her thoughts.

Charel turned the conversation over in her mind for a few moments more, then rolled over on her side and drifted off into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

B'ton stood outside the door to the Weyrwoman's weyr, biting his lip and considering his options. Wubath was asleep on the heights, otherwise he would have asked his bronze to gauge the Weyrwoman's mood. Although Wubath had flown the senior queen and won _her_ affection, B'ton truly feared he could not say the same. Jurille, the Telgar Weyrwoman and twenty Turns his senior was still decidedly cool in her personal dealings with him. While they presented a united front to the rest of the Weyr, B'ton had found himself turned out of this very door more nights than he cared to remember. Once again B'ton considered asking L'stur, the previous Weyrleader if this was typical behavior, and just as quickly discarded that idea, as the former Weyrleader avoided him as much as possible since the mating flight that had turned everything on its head. _That_ B'ton regretted even more than Jurille's coolness. The older bronzerider had always been willing to listen and advise when B'ton was merely a Wingsecond.

With a sigh he squared his shoulders and knocked on the door, waiting patiently for her response.

"Come in, Weyrleader." B'ton winced and opened the door, wondering if she knew how long he had been standing there. Graesth, the senior queen, stood on the ledge of her weyr, her golden muzzle being smeared with oil. She regarded the Weyrleader with brilliant blue eyes, before snorting and pulling free from Jurille, leaping off the ledge and gliding down to the Hatching Grounds.

"I apologize, if I have come at an inopportune time." B'ton said quietly, bracing himself for an utter dismissal.

"Don't." Jurille replaced the lid to the jar of hide oil. "Graesth is just being disagreeable." She shelved the jar and glanced at him over her shoulder. "She would have left no matter whom had chosen to show up." Picking up a shawl she settled it over her shoulders, and led him into the adjoining room, where several tomes sat on the reading table. Seating herself on the overstuffed couch she looked at him as he stood just inside the doorway, feeling for all the world like an erring weyrling.

"Well?" There was no rancor in her tone, B'ton decided, and took a deep breath.

"I was hoping to get your opinion." He started.

"I'm listening." That was the most he could have hoped for.

"I'd like to broaden the Search for candidates to the Crafthalls." B'ton said in as bland a tone as possible.

"What's wrong with the lower Caverns?" Jurille asked, picking up her mug and studying him over the rim of it.

"Nothing. But I've been reminded that we are rapidly nearing the end of the Pass, and it would be good if we strengthened those ties with the Crafthalls." He explained.

"Why not the Holds? After all, they tithe us as well." Jurille reminded him.

"Yes, but right now every rider is focused on fighting Thread. What do they do with all that free time once we enter the Interval?" B'ton queried. "I'm having a hard enough time keeping forty-two weyrlings out of trouble, imagine the mischief grown riders can get into."

Jurille studied him for a moment then pat the couch next to her, a faint smile curling her lips. Not for the first time B'ton wondered if she knew how beautiful she was.

"I have, actually." She admitted. "It's one of the reasons I've tasked Tress to arrange fosterlings in the Holds."

B'ton stared at her for moment, then closed his mouth. "Ah, all of our fosterlings?" He asked deilcately.

Jurille shook her head. "No, just the boys." She gave him a bemused look. "I know better than to send the girls out, not that the women of the Caverns would let me. Natural or fostered, a mother is a mother, and few of our women would think kindly of us for sending our girls into _that_ sort of environment." An expression of sadness flit across her face. "But sending them to the Crafthalls, that might actually be to our advantage." She mused over the thought for a bit, and absently pat his hand. "I approve of your line of thought, youngster. Do it. But be certain that there are as many from the lower Caverns as from the Crafthalls. I will not have Gl'tek growling at me because _all_ the new weyrlings are completely ignorant of our ways." Her tone was disagreeable in mentioning the Weyrlingmaster, but B'ton didn't miss the glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

"Thank you, Weyrwoman." B'ton replied respectfully, standing.

"Call me Jurille, B'ton." She smiled easily at him now, and B'ton was painfully aware of the flush creeping across his face. "And perhaps you will join me for dinner tonight?"

"M-my pleasure, We- Jurille." Bowing B'ton all but fled the Weyrwoman's quarters, all too aware that he was as scarlet as a greenrider before his dragon's first mating flight.

_You are happy._ Graesth noted from the Hatching Grounds, rearranging her eggs once again.

_So I am._ Jurille replied, sending a burst of affection to her queen.

_The Weyrleader has made you happy?_ Graesth had not hesitated to forward Wubath's concerns on more than one occasion when Jurille had pre-emptively left B'ton on her doorstep.

_Our Weyrleader has just proven that flying is more than simply looking at one's immediate airspace._ Metaphor, not usually a draconic strength, was not lost on Graesth.

* * *

At before dawn Reelon gently shook his daughters awake. Tibitha sat in her bed, stretching and yawning as Charel hurried to get dressed.

"Charrie," Tibitha said solemnly, watching her sister cinch her travel sack shut, "don't forget your 'crina." She pointed to the wall where the little clay instrument hung.

"Ah, thank you Tiblet." Charel gave her sister a big hug then collected the round instrument, little larger than a poultry egg, and slipped it into her bag. "You and Berk keep things working round here, okay?"

"Yes'm." Tibitha replied with a grin. "And you keep Pa safe."

"Fair trade," Charel flashed her a grin, and slung her bag over her back, before hastening downstairs to join the adults outside.

Her mother held a glow in the predawn, serving _klah_ and flat-wraps to the men. Charel hurried to retrieve Star from the stable, then hurried back out when she realized the runner wasn't present.

"He's at the end of the picket." Old Larst rumbled at her, as she passed.

"Oh, thank you!" Charel called over her shoulder, eager to be up and away. The older drovers chuckled, and finished their breakfasts, as Charel mounted up and roused their fifteen head to wakefulness. As the other men mounted, and the herd moved up the trail, Gwedli waved her daughter over, and handed her a small saddle pack.

"Your breakfast and lunch are both in here, Charrie. Don't eat it all in one go." She squeezed the girl's hand and waved the glowbasket until they disappeared around the bend in the path.

* * *

Droving a large group was hard work, Charel decided by mid-morning, but in a fun, challenging sort of way. She'd initially kept Star close to her father's roan, but as the herd fell into pace and a more predictable pattern she ranged more and more out, until she was about equidistant from Reelon and Keslo, one of the drovers that had remained with the main tithe herd at Doubleback. Keslo fascinated her, because he was missing his left leg from the knee down. Not that it slowed him down. He was quick to spot wayward cattle, and at lunch, while they watered the herdbeasts, Old Larst told her that he had a near uncanny ability to read the herd. Her father, in a soft word to her, recommended she observe and learn what she could from the one legged drover, and take any advice he had to offer.

Charel did, and at camp that evening offered to trade a song for a story. Keslo agreed, and Charel brought out her ocarina, playing the Duty Song as the other drovers sang. Before she could ask for her story, though, she was asked to play another, and another, until her repertoire was so reduced that she tried to improvise tunes from the ones the drovers whistled to her. Old Larst finally put an end to it, telling them all to get some shut eye.

Curled up next to her father, who really did snore as badly as their shepherding canine, she smiled up at the stars and decided to ask Keslo for the story before she played the next evening.

* * *

Wubath was amused and pleased, B'ton realized, as the bronze shifted under him. Pleased made sense enough, only two scorings that day, and both minor ones at that, an excellent injury list for a short Fall. And although most of the Weyr was turned out on the floor of the Bowl, it had far more to do with the scrubbing the dragons were getting, than any treatment for injury.

_What do you find so funny? _He asked.

_Graesth says the Weyrhealer is afraid he may have to transfer to High Reaches if he wishes to remain employed._ Wubath reported, and circled to land. He was just as eager for the post-Fall bath as any other dragon, but knew B'ton needed to remain aloft until every dragonpair had reported in. B'ton let out a snort of laughter. As good a healer as Zandur was, he really wasn't happy unless he had patients to attend. B'ton asked Wubath to land near the injured dragons.

Jurille, moving between the groups of weyr folk and the dragons they were attending, smiled easily as she made her way with a pot of numbweed to the one brown with Threadscore on the very tip of his tail. The brown, although not quite whimpering, let out a great sigh as the numbing effect of the salve took hold.

"Perhaps now you'll not fly so close to flame?" Jurille gently chastised the dragon, who meekly nodded his head.

"Do they ever wonder how you know all their tricks, with Graesth on the Hatching Ground?" B'ton asked by way of greeting. Jurille merely smiled, and moved over to the green with a wingtip burn. B'ton, familiar enough with her habits, followed behind, waiting for her response.

"And you," she shook a finger at the green who had the decency to look abashed, "if I hear about to you cutting it that close to the Queens Wing again I will personally see to it that you only have fish to eat from now until the end of the Pass." She turned to the green's rider, her tone turning more strident. "That goes for you too X'rst. Nothing but salted fish! What were you thinking, following the patch down into the queen's level? You're lucky your Rekonth only got her wingtip flamed." X'rst, having opened his mouth to come to the defense of his green, quickly snapped it shut as the Weyrwoman turned on him.

"I – yes Weyrwoman." X'rst positively wilted under the queenrider's glare.

"Good. See to it that you liberally apply the numbweed until the hide heals, then oil twice day. Rekonth's going to be much more sensitive in that area for a long time to come." She placed the numbweed pot in his hands and turned to the Weyrleader, her stern expression softening. "Of course I know their tricks, haven't you been told? Weyrwomen have eyes in the backs of their heads and the soles of their boots."


	3. Chapter 3

"Can I trade a song for a haircut?" Charel asked two nights later, nursing her busted lip.

"A haircut's not going to stop a holder lad from hitting you." Old Larst told her sourly, overhearing the barter attempt.

"He was hurting the watchwher!" She blazed back at him, surprising all the drovers, and even herself. "And the poor thing wasn't even _doing_ anything, it was just trying to sleep!"

Old Larst held his hand up. "I'm not saying you did wrong, lass. I'm just saying that if you plan to fight, you'd better learn when to take a stand, and when to let it go. What if that lad had been the Holder's son?"

Charel bit her lip, and promptly winced, causing the wound to reopen.

"Shards." Old Larst swore, and handed her a worn but clean bit of hide to hold to her lip. "Reelon, you talk some sense into your lass." He stomped away.

"Pa, I-" Charel looked entreatingly at her father as he approached.

"Sit, and listen while we trim your hair." He said, pointing to a flattish rock for her to sit on. Meekly she sat down, and Keslo very carefully began shearing.

"What you did today makes me both proud, and terribly angry." Reelon squatted, so Charel wasn't craning her head to look up at him. "Proud, because I know for certain that when my daughter is called upon to make the hard, but correct choice, she's going to stick it out, no matter what. Angry, because you didn't think your actions through." He held up a finger at her. "First of all, you didn't tell anyone what you were about. All we saw was you haul off and swing at a holder. Secondly," he held up a second finger, "you took it upon yourself to punish him, not the proper authority. " A third finger joined the first two. "Thirdly, _you hit a holder_. There are enough problems 'tween Hold and Hall that you needn't exacerbate them by starting a brawl. And if you behave like that at the Crafthall, you'll get thrown out."

Charel's eyes slowly filled with tears as Reelon rebuked her.

"I - I'm sorry, Pa. T'won't happen again." She whispered, trying to blink back her tears.

"I know. That's why I'm telling you. You're a good lass, and you mean well." He poked her forehead gently. "But you've got to start thinking. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, now you finish up and get some sleep. I have some nerves to sooth." Reelon said, standing and following Old Larst.

"For what it's worth, I think you acted admirably." Keslo said quietly. He didn't generally speak a whole lot, and that admission surprised her.

"Even though I caused all that trouble?" She asked mournfully.

"Especially because of it." He put the shears down and pulled out the small shaving mirror he carried with him. "Do you like it?"

Charel sniffled, and took the mirror, holding it up to catch the firelight. "It looks nice. Thank you."

"No, thank you." Keslo sat back a little putting his gear away. "I still owe you a story. Would you like to hear why I think so highly of your action?"

Charel nodded, a lump still in her throat.

"I was born in Crom, and when I was eight Turns old I fell into an abandoned mineshaft. I had both feet then, but I broke both legs in the fall." He explained with patience as he wound her cleanly sheared braid. "I was trapped there for three days before I was found. Even though I could hear the search parties looking for me, calling for me, my own voice was too weak, for I had fallen a long way. And although I heard tunnel snakes from time to time, none made it down as far as where I was." He titled her chin down to make sure the hair fell evenly. "It was the third night when Cromsk, the Hold watchwher, found me. How he got loose from his chain I don't know, but he crawled straight down the shaft, picked me up by the collar of my jacket and climbed right back up, and flew with me in his talons all the way to the courtyard of Crom. The healer said he scratched at the Hold doors until someone opened it, and carried me by the collar all the way to the healer's office." Keslo smiled a little. "The Hold Harper made a song about it, called the 'Watchwher's Search'."

"Is that when you...?" Charel didn't know how to frame her question in a tactful manner.

"Lost my leg? Yes, but my father, a journeyman smith, had read about replacement limbs once when he was transcribing records, and set about making me a new leg." He pointed to the metal rod protruding from a joint that attached to his leg. "It works almost as good as the original, which is good, because I never wanted to be a smith." He grinned openly at her. "I like being able to sleep out under the stars, and chase herdbeasts all over on runner-back. Being a smith means being stuck at a forge all day. I'll pass on that, many thanks all the same."

Charel smiled back tentatively, feeling the knot in her stomach ease. "Will you teach me the 'Watchwher's Search'?" She asked shyly.

"When your lip heals enough play your funny pipe, I will." He promised, and offered her the long plait of hair. Charel wrinkled her nose. "T'aint worth anything. Just chuck it in the fire."

"Keep it for your mother, they tend to have the most curious attachment to these things." Keslo suggested, placing the braid in her hand.

"Okay. And... thank you." Charel wished him a good night and wandered off to find her sleeping furs.

* * *

B'ton paced in the Masterharper's quarters, going over the conversation he had with the Mastersmith again in his head.

_You did nothing wrong._ Wubath rumbled in his mind sleepily from the fire heights of Fort Hold.

"Then why-?" B'ton asked aloud, as was his habit when he thought he was alone.

"Why what, Weyrleader?" Masterharper Degal asked, coming in, wiping his stained hands on a rag.

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" B'ton instantly felt contrite in the presence of the older man.

"No, never. Please, have a seat. Catkal is sending some of her tartlets up." Degal eased himself into the padded seat next to his rarely used sandtable, and peered at the young Weyrleader with thinly concealed worry. "In truth, I was wondering when I'd see you."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite follow. " B'ton said, his brow furrowed as he took the offered seat. "I hadn't thought my request to Search would have caused such problems."

Degal shook his head, and put the rag aside. B'ton could see the discoloration of woodstain flecking his hand. "No, you are well within your rights, Weyrleader. Master Vesher refused you on the grounds that you are a dragonrider." He watched with concern as B'ton absorbed that statement, and was relieved to only see confusion at his response.

"But... why? Telgar Weyr has never abused tithe, and whenever we have been asked to ferry people, or anything, we've happily done so." B'ton replied.

"You, aye, but Benden Weyr and C'seld in particular haven't lived up to their obligations." Degal put his rag aside and rifled through a stack of parchments. "And not just with the Smithcraft. This," he held up a sheet, "is a list of all the women in Hall and Hold who have had children fathered by dragonmen, that the Weyr will not acknowledge." He handed the page to B'ton. The bronzerider took the page, then started when he saw the length and breadth of the list.

"All of these women?" He asked incredulously. "And you have verified their claims?"

Tiredly Degal nodded. "This is the list of claims we could validate. I have a list three times as long of speculated births."

"This... this is staggering." B'ton finally said. "and almost..."

"Systematic? Yes, I had noticed that too." Degal nodded. "If you will note the dates next to the births, you will see that this started a turn after C'seld took leadership at Benden.

B'ton swallowed and returned the list to the Masterhaper.

"And he denys all these claims?" Incredulous, he leaned back in his seat.

"Worst. He blames randy Holders and claims the Weyr hasn't the resources to investigate the claims of fallen women." Degal held up his hand as B'ton looked up in anger. "His words, not mine. As it is, I believe he knows, and chooses to turn a blind eye to it."

"I... I don't know what to say." B'ton admitted, staggered by the sheer arrogance.

Degal smiled sympathetically at the younger man.

"There really isn't a lot to say." He handed back to the list to B'ton. "Let your Weyrladies see this." He settled back in his chair. "Sometimes they have the best solutions we menfolk haven't thought of."

Catkal, the Harper's wife arrived with a plate of pastries, and B'ton spent a couple much more pleasant moments with the Masterhaper before politely begging off.

* * *

Reelon was never certain what spooked the herd. He was helping Old Larst tend the breakfast fire when two hundred panicked herdbeast stampeded through the camp. He grabbed the old drover and pulled him behind the scant protection of a smallish boulder. Through the confusion of hooves and rolling white eyes Reelon saw Charel on his runner, swept along with the herd.

Charel was saddling the roan when the stampede started, and managed to pull herself up into the tall runner's saddle just as the roan caught the beasts panic, joining the herd as they surged down through the campsite and down the narrow chute to the trail. Over the heads of the beasts she watched the drovers scrambling to safety. Fear squeezed her heart when she realized she didn't see Keslo with those safely out of harm's way. Then, a mere dragonlength ahead of her, she saw the one legged drover fighting a losing battle to cling to the crumbling rock wall. Even as she watched he slid with agonizing slowness back to the level of the trail.

Charel urged the roan to the wall as the first few beasts missed the drover, kicking off her stirrups, and wrapping her left leg around her saddle horn as she leaned all the to the right over the side and grabbed the small drover around his waist.

Keslo grabbed for a stirrup and together Charel and he pulled themselves back up into the saddle. The roan grunted and slowed a little as the weight on his back doubled.

"We have to turn the herd!" Kelso shouted in her ear, situating himself behind her. It took a moment for Charel to make out what he was saying, over the noise and fury of the stampede, but when she did she blanched, realizing what he meant. With the lightest of kicks she spurred her runner forward, urging it to the front of the herd.

As the herd thundered onward the path broadened until six beasts could run abreast, and the tall roan eeled his way through the herd, the two riders making themselves small against his neck. Out here, in the badlands of the Telgar foothills the trail would branch off on deceptive meadows that would abruptly end in one of the many little streams, several queendragon lengths below. If they did not turn the herd before it came to one of the branches the entire herd could stampede off the edge of the cliff to their deaths.

The tall roan, true to his racing pedigree moved to the front of the herd and after a seeming eternity of dust and crescendoing hooves broke out and past the two leading animals. Charel, having long ago given the runner his head, gently tugged on the reins to the left, and the worthy beast complied, staying on the path. Behind her, Charel could feel Keslo let out a sudden sigh of relief when the herd followed them. She smiled, suddenly realizing she too had been holding her breath. They thundered past two more such exits before the herd began to lose speed. By now the path had wended down to the riverbank, and the herdbeasts continued to slow as thirst gripped them, and at first a few, then more and finally the beasts directly behind them stopped and lowered their sweat flecked muzzles into the sweet cold water.

Charel finally reined in the roan, who was all too happy to comply, and greedily sucked water from the river as Kelso slid off.

"Well run, Drover." He said, and flashed a relieved smile at her.

"Socks here did all the work, not I." She demurred, patting the roan's neck affectionately.

"So he did." Keslo laughed. His laughter was infectious and Charel joined in, and if their laughter had a slight hysterical edge to it, the runner didn't complain.

"So then, what should we do now?" Charel asked after their laughter finally died, gazing back down the trail, and the scattered herd.

"We stay at this end. The others will be along, and bring any stragglers with them." Keslo explained, stretching his arms over his head. "I don't suppose those saddlebag have anything edible in them?" He added hopefully.

"Oh! Um..." Charel let out a sad little sigh, pulling out a square pot with a handle. "Sorry." She said, holding it and two tin mugs up.

"That's fine, we can at least make trail _klah_," he pointed to the gnarled tree growing out of the riverbank less than fifty paces away. It took Charel a moment, but then she recognized it as the oft sought species that was prized for its spicy bark.

"You need a pick-me-up after that wake-up call?" She asked him incredulously, dismounting with the careless grace of having been raised to ride before she could walk. Keslo snorted his laughter, and stretched out his real leg.

"No, this mug's to calm me down! Can I ask you to kindle a fire while I make the brew?"

"Fair trade. But I want to comb out Socks first." She said, undoing the cinch.

"By all means, he's more than earned it." Keslo replied, and ambled over to the tree.

* * *

Jurille was speaking to the Weyr Herdsman, when B'ton found her. Although he found the details of running the Weyr at times tedious, he was endlessly fascinated with the Weyrwoman's interactions with Weyr staff. Sometimes cajoling, sometimes cool, rarely stern, but she always walked away with the result she sought. Jurille glanced at him, as he waited patiently for her under the tall sugarfruit tree, its ripening fruits turning purple against the grey green foliage.

"You cut a handsome picture there, a sun-bronzed man beneath a jade and amethyst tree." She said by way of greeting, smiling at him. B'ton felt his ears redden at the unexpected compliment, and hoped that his hair hid the flush.

"Ah, thank you, and I hope I've caught you at a good time?" He stammered, then mentally berated himself for sounding like the greenest of apprentices. Wubath, sunning himself by the lake, sent him a burst of wordless encouragement.

"Now is always a good time." Jurille said, joining him in the shade of the tree, and smiling at him, making his heart race a little more. Biting the inside of his cheek, he reminded himself of his duty, and pulled the list from his belt pouch.

"Were you aware we refused Search privileges from Smithhall?" His question came out harsher than he intended, and he physically flinched away from her look of outrage.

"Why?" She all but spit out.

"Benden. C'seld's letting his riders dally with the womenfolk of Hold and Hall, then denying the father's obligation." B'ton explained apologetically, handing her the Masterharper's list. Jurille scanned the list front and back, then looked back up, chewing her lower lip.

"This is... disturbing. Is this a complete list?" Her question caught him a little off guard.

"Degal says he has a list three times as long of suspected births but these were the only ones he could confirm." B'ton explained.

"Then we should presume the problem to be three times as large. Degal was always meticulous, to the point of being conservative with his estimates." Jurille replied, studying the list a bit closer.

"He's made lists for you before?" B'ton was appalled at the thought.

"Yes, but not for things like this, bronzerider. " Jurille flashed him a reassuring smile. "We were fosterlings together at Fort." She frowned at the list then looked up at him. "With a couple of exceptions, these are all bronzeriders." She said, clearly picking her words with care. B'ton frowned, trying and failing to see the significance.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow."

Jurille gave him a patient look.

"C'seld Egoth has flown all four queens in Benden for the last decade, according the records." She explained.

"That's... usually discouraged, isn't it?" B'ton knew from past expeience that previous Weyrleaders had found tasks well away from the Weyr when any of the junior queens rose to mate.

"It is." Jurille agreed. "The other queen riders joke about the Benden Harem, but I've heard other Weyrwomen express concern about this practice. It's not healthy, particularly since C'seld won't allow the 'Harem' to have bedmates other than him."

"Wait, wait, he's controlling the queenriders?" B'ton looked incredulous, and with good cause. Queens outranked bronzes, even the Weyrleader.

"No, C'seld has made it known to his riders he will not tolerate any others in their beds as long as Egoth flies their queens." Jurille tapped the list. "This is the natural outcome. He's denying these children, because to do otherwise would be to acknowledge that he has a problem." She looked down once more at the names and sighed. "Too bad they are all so young, there's doubtlessly good candidates in this lot." She said tucking the list into her own belt pouch. "Let me talk to the other Weyrwomen about this. These children are scattered across the continent, we may be able to cover the father's obligations for Benden, and to our eventual advantage." She patted his arm.

"Thank you, B'ton, you may leave this to me." She smiled easily at him.

"Thank you, Jurille. You lift a great weight from me." He replied with a slight tilt of his head.

* * *

**_Welcome and thank you for reading my fanfiction. Please don't be afraid to leave notes, questions or critical reviews, I can only hope to improve if you respond. _**

**_Random Reader with no return address: I apologize that I haven't got more of the story written, but I promise there's more going on than _just_ the Benden Weyrleader scaring off bedmates for the Queenriders. I'll reveal more as the plot allows me. _**


	4. Chapter 4

It was midmorning before the drovers regrouped. In the meantime, Charel had foraged and found, much to her pleasure, both sweet cress and tart marsh berries growing in the quiet shallows of the river. With her prizes she and Keslo made a merry breakfast over the small cow chip fire. After breakfast she hopped back on Socks and rounded up the few herdbeasts that had wandered further down the trail. Upon returning to their impromptu camp she sighted her father riding on her runner, Star, and gave a cheery whistle, trills similar to a wherry, but at lower ranges than wherries usually used. Her father turned Star around so fast the little runner actually reared to complete the turn. Reelon's arms engulfed his daughter and he all but pulled her off the roan as he crushed her to him in his hug.

Charel, her face pinking, tried to speak. "Pa, tis okay I'm okay, really." She said, her voice slightly muffled by the embrace, embarrassed with all the eyes on them.

"Stars above lass, I thought I lost you." Reelon whispered, his voice rough.

Charel looked up and was astonished to see her father _crying_. "When you pitched to the side like that, I- I thought..." His voice trailed off. Charel turned a deeper shade of red, mortified for not having realized that she caused her father such worry.

"Pa, I'm so sorry." She whispered, and hugged him back. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know- I wasn't thinking- I won't- it won't-" she stammered.

"You have a very brave, very clever daughter." Keslo said, holding the roan's head, and looking up at Reelon. "She saved my life, and then she saved the herd."

Reelon looked from Keslo to Charel and back.

"You turned the herd?" He asked her.

"Keslo warned me, and Socks did the running." Charel said quietly, a slight catch in her voice. Reelon smiled then at her, a watery, proud fatherly smile and hugged her again, this time truly unseating her. "Charrie, you are the absolute end." He whispered, and Charel flushed for a third time, from pride. Then she paled a little and pulled away, worry furrowing her brow.

"Can we not tell Ma?" She asked, nervously. "She'll tan my hide for riding without stirrups."

* * *

Tress, the headwoman for the Lower Caverns, was sitting by the artificial lake with nine other women from the Caverns, spinning wool with their drop spindles and spinning wheels. Wheels were used to spin the wool into sturdy yarn, but the drop spindles were small and the thin gauge thread coming off of them was being prepared for embroidery.

Jurille envied Tress that skill. While she had plied the spinning wheel in her fosterling days, the use and success of using a drop spindle had eluded her, and once Graesth had chosen her for her rider there had been no time to learn. Watching the women as they conversed and laughed while working she wondered again if it was not to late too learn.

_When the Pass is over..._ It was more a wistful wish than a reality, then Jurille stopped in her tracks and realized that it really wasn't. Her eyes widened momentarily the enormity of that thought, for when the Pass ended, all of Pern _would_ change. Just as the Pass had changed everything, so would the Interval. And if the Weyrs wanted to lead that change, they had a very short window of opportunity to implement it.

"Weyrwoman? Is everything alright?" Tress's broke through the surface of her thoughts. Jurille looked up and smiled reassuringly at the young headwoman. When Padyr, the old Headwoman had announced her plans to retire to a granddaughter's hold in Ista it had come as a surprise, but not an unexpected one. Tress, originally the fifth child of the Lord Holder of Igen, had been Searched by High Reaches, and been passed between Weyrs, standing candidate at each Hatching until she had landed at Telgar. Under Padyr's careful tutelage the timid young woman had bloomed into an immensely competent Headwoman. Privately, Jurille still nurtured hopes that Tress would Impress, but this close to the end of a Pass golden eggs were few and far between. Still, even if she didn't Impress, Telgar Weyr benefited from her presence.

Still smiling, Jurille sat down on one of the flattish rocks that dotted that end of the lake, tucking her skirts out of the way of the spinners.

"Everything is quite alright," she said easily, and made the snap decision to include the Headwoman in her plans. "I was hoping you might have time to arrange for some after dinner refreshments, perhaps some of those curled cookies of yours? –for a meeting of the Queenriders these evening."

"Tonight?" Tress thought about it for a moment, the spindle never stopping, then nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'll send a couple girls to deliver them, say, when the harper starts to play?"

Jurille nodded agreeably. "Yes, that would be fine, but..." she leaned forward conspiratorially, her smile apologetic, "would you mind terribly doing the serving?" She pitched her voice lower, although every woman there heard it clearly. "You know how the youngsters like to chat."

There was a twitter of laughter from the assembled woman and Tress grinned at the Weyrwoman.

"You know you need only to ask, Jurille."

"That maybe, but I thank you all the same." Jurille demurred, and mentally asked Graesth to invite all the Queenriders to join her in the Council Room after dinner.

_Saegth would like to know if Koru should bring her cribbage board._ The golden dragon asked her a long moment later, as Jurille walked back across the bowl to the Hatching Ground.

_Certainly, and ask her if she can find another pack of cards, my set is getting too dog-eared to shuffle easily._ Jurille was never certain how much information Graesth felt important pass on but she always explained her reasoning to her Queen, a habit she picked up in her Weyrling days.

_Willth says Reema can bring extra cards. I want you here. _Graesth added suddenly turning her great head to face the Weyrwoman, swaying slightly back and forth over her eggs. Jurille picked up her pace, all but running the last few dragonlengths across the black sands.

"What's wrong?" Jurille asked, hugging the Queen's foreleg.

_I do not know. I want you. _Graesth hissed in the direction of the Lower Caverns and crouched down gathering all the eggs within her protective grasp, her tail curling around Jurille. _They cannot have you nor my eggs._ She rumbled ominously.

* * *

**_Major chapter rewrite, my apologies. Please feel free to critique or offer suggestions._**


	5. Chapter 5

Graesth finally let Jurille coax her into letting her go. She continued to growl in the direction of the Lower Caverns until the junior queens Freeth and Desirth joined her on the black sands, and then she curled up and went to sleep twitching slightly.

"What's eating Graesth?" Pilana, the youngest queenrider asked, stripping off her riding gear in the heat.

"I don't know." Jurille admitted, and glanced at the petite girl. She wouldn't have thought the fisherman's daughter from Ista would have Impressed, let alone a Queen, but the young woman threw her heart into anything she turned her hand to, and was well received in the Weyr because of it. "Will you join us tonight for cards?"

Pilana flashed the Weyrwoman a smile. "I wouldn't miss it for all the fish in the seas." She pointed to the returning Weyrlings. "And you shouldn't get many complaints from them tonight either. They did the Weyr proud today, clearing the fields for Holder Jardet." She giggled. "You should have seen his face when we landed on the road, and Farmer Mebeckle started divvying us up into work parties as if this happened every day. I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head." She grinned and rubbed her shoulder. "I might have to ask Zandur to send up one of those smelly rubs of his. I don't think I've sweat this much since we rendered numbweed last."

"Really? Are you saying we're not working you hard enough during Fall?" Jurille teased her. Pilana laughed.

"On the contrary, that's always a workout! But," as her tone turned slightly serious, "swinging a tank around is merely making sure it's a fixed where it won't over balance you. Swinging a scythe and bundling the cereal, that's different." They walked together back to their weyrs, the few habitations that had the added benefit of being accessible from the ground. "I have a whole new respect for landsmen now." She admitted.

"So you won't be farming during the Interval?" Jurille asked, as they stopped in front of her weyr.

"Hah. No, I was thinking of finishing my cartography studies and charting the changes to the waterways from dragonback." Pilana said off handedly, smiling at a passing Weyrling.

Jurille blinked, surprised to hear that sort of planning from another rider. Mentally she berated herself for not realizing that others would be thinking of a time when Thread ceased to fall.

"I hadn't realized that you were studying such." She said with deceptive mildness.

Pilana looked back at her. "My foster mother is our fleets' Navigator. She started me to tracing charts, mostly to keep me out from underfoot, but when I showed a talent for it she took my training much more serious." She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing out the wavy brown locks. "I don't mind in the least putting my studies on hold for Desirth, but I really enjoyed chart-making, and having a dragon would certainly make the job that much easier, and safer."

"I had no idea it was such a dangerous task." Jurille said.

"It's not fighting Thread, but taking depths from a small vessel in deteriorating conditions has significant drawbacks." Pilana explained. "I'll tell you all about it tonight, if you'd like."

"I would. Have a good bath." Jurille said with a smile recognizing the signs. Pilana laughed and hurried to her weyr.

"Jurille!" The Weyrwoman turned as Reema trotted up. "Did you hear about the Mastersmith? He's refusing Search!" Reema was understandably angry, as she was in charge of this search.

"Yes, the Weyrleader informed me." Jurille replied mildly.

"And did our good Weyrleader have the decency to tell you _why_?" Reema demanded, slapping her riding gloves in her other hand, her brown eyes flashing.

"Yes, actually, it's one of the reasons I called for a Queens' Night." Jurille explained soothingly.

Reema pursed her lips then nodded. "I thought it was odd that you'd call for one on the eve of Thread." She gave Jurille a sour look. "Alright then, what am I to tell my riders?"

"Search, just steer clear of the Smithhalls for the time being." Jurille said patiently.

"And when they want to know why?" Reema arched an eyebrow at Jurille.

"Explain that the Weyrleader is honoring the Mastersmith's request to not leave him shorthanded in these last few, but critical Turns before the end of the Pass." Jurille elucidated. Reema frowned, then visibly thawed, clearly in some communication with her queen. Jurille squashed the temptation to wake Graesth and ask what was said.

"Alright then. But I'd like the whole story, tonight."

"Which you'll have," Jurille promised, then smiled sympathetically at the younger woman. "It won't stop them from speculating, I fear, but that's the official reason."

Reema nodded, then her scowl erased entirely with a laugh. "They do gossip don't they?" The two women shared a commiserating look, then Reema departed to take her half wing of blueriders to Search the minor crafthalls that dotted the eastern coast of Nerat. Jurille was just contemplating sneaking away to steal a few moments in leisure reading when she heard her name called, this time uncertainly. Turning she saw Koru, another junior queenrider, dressed in the worn leathers that most of the Weyrfolk adopted when working with firestone. For a moment Jurille cast about for why the black-haired woman would be wearing those leathers, then she remembered that Koru had asked for the task of organizing the weyrlings to fill the bags of firestone.

"Yes Koru?" She asked, moving to intercept the younger woman.

"I apologize, I had asked Saegth to bespeak Graesth-" Koru started hesitantly.

"But my great and growly beast is very much asleep." Jurille smiled at the nervous woman. She had never quite understood how Koru, one of the rare Weyrbred queenriders could be so painfully shy. "What did you wish to ask me?"

Koru twisted her hands, clearly worried. "The firestone." She blurted out. "It's not stacked right."

"How much is badly stacked?" Jurille's brow furrowed. Poorly stacked loose firestone could shift and bury anyone trying to fill the bags, making the dusty task of filling the bags a lethal one for young weyrlings.

"All of it." Koru gave her an anguished look. "I asked Mirrth to lay along the weak side while we filled from the top, but without a dragon's bulk, it's an avalanche waiting to happen."

Jurille shuddered. During her Weyrling days there has been an incident with badly stacked firestone shifting, burying three Weyrlings alive. A brown from the same Hatching as Graesth had gone _between_, when the Weyrfolk couldn't reach the boy before the rock had crushed the air out of his lungs.

"You did the right thing. Let the Weyrlingmaster know no one is to bag without a small green on hand. And I'll talk to Tress, she'll know who to chide for the poor stacking." Jurille pat Koru's shoulder.

"Can I tell him you said so?" Koru asked plaintively.

"Absolutely." Koru looked so relieved Jurille wondered what had the Weyrlingmaster in a snit this time.

_The Weyrlings turn to her rather than him when they have a problem._ Jurille didn't change her expression, but was faintly worried that Saegth had chosen to speak directly to her. But then that was just like the smallest queen, to speak up on her rider's behalf. Dragons didn't, as a rule, speak to humans other than their riders. But Saegth, as Graesth was always quick to remind Jurille, was a bundle of contradictions even among other dragons.

"Better yet, let's go together. Gl'tek wouldn't dare to growl at two Queenriders." She said, turning back towards the Lower Caverns.

_He won't if he wishes to be allowed across the Bowl._ Graesth added darkly, before lapsing back into her fitful doze.

* * *

The drovers had to travel by the light of the two moons, to make it to the Thread-shelter before calling it a night. The herdbeasts complained and lowed uncertainly in the last hour of travel, but Old Larst was adamant, and none of the other drovers disagreed, with Threadfall slated for the next day. Charel was yawning in her saddle when they finally entered the shelter, but she didn't argue when Larst told her to light a fire in the brick fireplace. Her father and Keslo went to help settle the herd. She had just gotten a few sparks to catch when Branth appeared, carrying a kettle of water.

"Good job. You'll make a good holder's wife." He said to her. Uncomfortably, Charel moved to one side, for though he smiled something else glittered in his eyes.

"I'm going to the Crafthall first." She said, careful not to let him corner her.

"Pppt, why do you want that? Don't you want children?" Branth asked, settling the kettle on the hearthstone and feeding the small flame a little more fuel.

"One day, aye. But right now I'd rather learn all there is to know about herdbeasts," she replied, torn between needing to tend the fire and wanting to get away from the drover. Branth turned and studied her with that disquieting gaze of his.

"Such a waste..." For a moment it looked as if he was going to reach for her, then Old Larst entered, carrying his tact.

"Tend your fire girl." He said sharply, dropping his gear along the far wall. "Branth, go help the Herdsman with the black cow, he seems to think it's trying to go lame." Branth nodded and left without another word. Larst waited until he left then scowled at Charel. "Don't be getting caught alone with him, girly."

Charel shivered and nodded. "Yessir." Despite it sounding like a criticism of her, Charel was obscurely relieved the old drover recognized that Branth was troubling her. Old Larst made excuses for staying in the kitchen area with her until Reelon returned, arguing with Keslo.

"Where's Branth?" Old Larst asked off-handedly.

"Tending the cow." Reelon explained, striding over to the fire to warm his hands. "Are there any holds between here and Telgar that will exchange cows with us?

"Dragons don't care if their meal is a little lame." Keslo said in an exasperated tone.

"Dragons might not, but the Weyr Herdsman will." Old Larst replied. "How old is the cow, Reelon?"

Charel quietly added refined klah powder into the kettle as the men discussed the matter of the lame herdbeast, and stirred it until the fine powder had all but dissolved. Brewing klah this way was new to her, and she sipped a little of the still tepid water to make sure the drink was properly proportioned. More drovers joined them, bringing in their tact and sleeping rolls and claiming their spaces for sleeping.

"Alright, I'll ask my sister if they will trade," Keslo sighed, running a hand through dusty hair. "We should reach their Hold tomorrow."

"Good." Old Larst turned to look at Charel. "Is that brew ready yet?"

"It's still warming." Charel said apologetically. Old Larst waved it off. "No worries. Get some rest, we'll stand watch tonight in threes." He pointed to two other drovers. "You two, stand with me." The other drovers nodded and laid out their sleeping furs. Reelon beckoned to her, and with a tilt of the head indicated where he had laid their gear. She nodded, weariness making her shoulders slump as she rolled out her furs, and without another thought tumbling into sleep.

* * *

By dinner the entire Weyr knew of the Mastersmith's refusal. When Tress arrived with refreshments to the Council Room, the first thing she noticed was that the pegboard was set up, but the deck of cards remained untouched.

Jurille motioned Tress over after she placed the plates of cookies around the table and poured the sweet _klah_ liquor into glasses for all of them.

"You may as well join us." Jurille said tiredly, patting the chair next to her. "No one will think to tell you the entirety of the matter otherwise."

Tress took her seat next to Telgar's Weyrwoman, and cradled her own petite glass as Jurille talked.

"Today when our Weyrleader went to ask permission to Search, Master Vesher refused. Politely, but he refused all the same. When asked why, B'ton was directed to speak to Master Degal, which our good Weyrleader should have recognized as a sign of a larger problem." Jurille held up a hand as Urlyra, previously B'ton's weyrmate, opened her mouth to defend him. "I mean no disrespect, 'Lyra, B'ton is a good man and a good Leader. I am merely stating that he still has much to learn about politics." Urlyra shut her mouth and sat back in her seat. "The Masterharper presented B'ton, who in turn passed it on to me, a list of woman pregnant by Benden riders, that the Weyr is denying the father's obligation."

All the queenriders leaned forward as Jurille presented the list, then pandemonium broke out as everyone tried to talk at once. Jurille tried to restore order, then outside Graesth trumpeted, and was replied to by the other queens. The Council Room fell into startled silence.

"Yes, thank you." Jurille said with a sheepish smile. "As you can see there are over a hundred pregnancies that Master Degal could verify-"

"You mean there might be more?" Pilana asked, her look of outrage turning to disbelief.

"If the Masterharper complied the list, then you can guarantee there is one at least twice as long of claims he couldn't verify." Urlyra said over the rim of her cup. "I trained under him, the man is meticulous to a fault."

Jurille nodded. "He claims to have a list three times as long of unsubstantiated births." The entire room groaned, and Reema pulled the list over to her, reading it.

"What do you recommend we do?" Pilana asked.

"We must meet the obligation." Koru surprised the group, and apparently herself, as she turned bright red after speaking. Jurille swallowed her smile.

"Koru's right, the obligation must be met, but not just by Telgar. As soon as the Hatching is done, I'll meet with the other Weyrwomen and discuss how we can reach out to those women. Obviously, those that live in lands beholden to Telgar we will care for ourselves, but it is those that fall under the Benden's protection will have to be divided amongst us." Jurille explained.

"So we can't expect any help from the Benden Harem?" Urlyra asked.

"No. And don't waste your breath trying." Reema placed the list down, and looked up, making a point of meeting each person's gaze. "This is part of why I left Benden." She tapped the list. "What you don't know is what went on before Egoth flew Jentlth. While Th'cry was still alive, C'seld and five other riders started a competition, to see who could seduce the most women in the Lower Caverns." Reema looked sad. "The day before the Fall that killed him, Th'cry found out about it from a bluerider who's weyrmate was being harassed, and banned the practice. The ban was still in effect while we were Leaderless, but the moment Jentlth rose I petitioned Jurille to transfer here. And in light of what Reelu has written me, I got out in time."

"I'm sorry, who's Reelu?" Pilana asked hesitantly. Reema smiled easily, clearly taking no offense.

"My sister. We were both Searched. She stayed on as Benden's Archivist."

"What else has your sister reported to you?" Jurille asked, suddenly very worried.

"Little things mostly. There's a lot of dislike amongst the other colors for C'seld and the bronzeriders in general. C'seld acts like a spoiled lordling, which, when you consider he was Lord Hewald's favored son, isn't all that surprising. The Weyrfolk living in the Lower Caverns restrict their interactions with the bronzeriders as much as possible, and have elected a Head_man_ to interact with the Weyrleader." Reema shook her head. "I keep hoping the queens will get fed up with him, but he's been very clever there too. Do you realize," Reema ran a hand through her hair, "that all his queenriders are under the age of thirty?"

"I don't understand." Urlyra said, refilling Reema's cup.

"She's saying he's able to manipulate the queenriders because they are too young to know any better." Tress observed. Reema nodded.

"When the Fabulous Eight retired to Ista that left only Kimi and myself as queenriders at Benden. Willth had risen earlier that year, so I knew Kimi was most likely going to be the next Weyrwoman." Reema shrugged. "She's got a good head on her shoulders, for all that she's young, and everything I've heard suggests that she doing well for all that C'seld is making things difficult." Reema took a deep draught of her cup. "The other three queens are all from Jentlth's clutches, which C'seld has taken as a sign that he can do no wrong."

The room settled into an uncomfortable silence.

"W-what should we do then?" Koru asked hesitantly.

"We should check our gear and get a good night's rest." Jurille said, finishing her cup. "Sisters, I beg your pardon, you are welcome to stay and enjoy Tress's wonderful cookies, but I must be going." She placed her cup down and bade the others good night, then went looking for B'ton.

* * *

Reelon shook Charel awake a little after midnight. Yawning, she took the miniture glowbasket from him and visited the necessary before rejoining her father and Tuller, a cheerful drover who liked to whistle off tune, by the tiny kitchen fire, fortifying themselves with a strong cup of _klah_ before taking their post by the entrance.

"Why don't we just bar the door?" Charel asked innocently enough. Tuller smiled and shook his head.

"Iffin' there's folk caught out, on their way to shelter, they're going to be mighty frightened to find the door barred." He explained.

"Oh." Charel smiled sheepishly, and rubbed the sleep from her eye. "Sorry, I'm not quite awake yet."

"No worries. You'll get to sleep in tomorrow." Tuller said cheerily. Charel nodded, and sat on the slight shelf formed by the brick wall. The warm night air was a pleasant change from the dank, slightly manure fragrant air of the shelter. The sound of night flying insects droned softly in the distance, and another thought occurred to Charel.

"What about ground crews? Will we be expected to help?" Both Fuller and Reelon shook their heads.

"Not when we're on tithe. But we're to keep a sharp eye out for infestations." Reelon rumbled, rubbing his sore foot. "Herd'll be jumpy after the Fall too, so be wary."

"Will they be jumpy because of the Fall or because of the dragons?" Charel wanted to know, causing Tuller to chuckle.

"Yer a curious one, artcha?"

"It's just that, back home the herdbeasts don't seem to mind Fall, but Star goes crazy whenever he catches a whiff of dragon." Charel explained, hugging her knees.

"No, you're got the square of it." Reelon smiled encouragingly at her. "Sweepriders are generally careful, but it doesn't hurt us to be alert."

* * *

B'ton was surprised when Graesth rumbled warningly at him, as he walked across the Bowl with Jurille in the predawn. The first six wings and the Queen's wing were already assembled, the Bowl resounding with the sound of dragons crunching firestone.

"Sorry, she's been like that since yesterday." Jurille explained, carrying several jars of numbweed.

"Is this normal brooding behavior?" B'ton asked, as he pulled on his flight gloves, no longer afraid to question Jurille about her queen.

"No, this is new." She admitted joining the women helping the Weyrhealer set up a triage station. This Fall was going to be a long one, and over the heart of Telgar's breadbasket. Neither senior Weyrperson said it, but today's Fall was particularly critical during the harvest. The dragons, B'ton knew, would give their all, as they always did when facing their ancient nemesis, but the riders would instinctively feel the added pressure to preform and become more reckless. It was like this every Turn at this time. Looking around, B'ton wondered, in the small quiet corner of his mind where Wubath couldn't hear him, how many of the assembled dragons would come back Threadscored or not come return at all.

"They'll all come home, Weyrleader." Jurille placed a hand on his arm, her eyes full of warmth and faith. "You've led them home before, today will be no different."

* * *

**_Hello! Sorry for the tardiness of this posting, life snuck up and clobbered me over the head with a responsibility stick. Please note that I reordered this and the last chapter. As per usual, if you catch any inconsistencies or grammatical errors (especially the grammatical ones) please let me know. Many thanks!_**

**_ ~Inu _**


	6. Chapter 6

For the second time Charel was shaken awake, although this time it wasn't her father's voice urging her up.

"Keslo?" She asked, yawning. The drover put a finger to his lips, then motioned for her to follow him. Charel trotted after him, sleeping furs pulled over her shoulders. Keslo led her back to the entrance, where her father and two other drovers stood, staring eastward into the gloomy dawn.

"Pa what..." The words died in her throat as the horizon flickered with bursts of light.

"We thought you might like to see this." Keslo said, picking up a flamethrower. It was only then that Charel noticed that all four men were thusly armed. She swallowed apprehensively, then looked back out at the valiant dragons.

"This isn't a sight many non-riders get to see." Thallon, Old Larst's right hand man added in the otherwise dead silence.

"It's... amazing..." she could now make out the colors. The upper wings comprised mostly of greens, midlevel solidly of blues and browns. The flying significantly lower, sweeping up what little made it through the upper wings, four gold bright specks, their fire flaming down and to the side of the dragons, rather than directly ahead of the dragons.

"I only count four queens," she said suddenly, pulling the furs tighter around her shoulders.

"There are eggs on the sands of Telgar," Reelon reminded her, divining the source of her worry.

"And queens don't leave their eggs until they hatch," Charel supplied in return, falling into the pattern of the learning game her father had devised.

"And if one of the queens can't fly...?" Reelon added his eyes never leaving the sight of the dragons fighting Thread.

"Then there should only be four queens in the sky." Charel grinned, and they watched in awed silence as the Fall advanced onward, until Charel could make out the riders themselves.

"Bar the door, Keslo." Thallon said, breaking the long silence. Regretfully Charel helped Keslo close the heavy door, skybroom wood lined with copper, sealing out the cool air of the morning and the spellbinding sight of the dragons.

"Now, back to bed with you." Thallon added, when Charel cracked a massive yawn. She nodded and followed her father back to the kitchen area, and dreams of flaming dragons.

* * *

"Wheel and turn or bleed and burn. Fly between, blue and green. Soar, dive down, bronze and brown. Dragonmen must fly when threads are in the sky!" The weyrlings chanted the rhyme as two girls skipped rope. Jurille smiled, hearing the chant, pausing in her set up to watch the children play. Koru had introduced the game, which Jurille heartily approved, as it gave the children something active to keep them both physically and mentally active. Weyrlings weren't immune to the unnerving mood that settled over the Weyr while the fighting wings were out, and physically demanding games provided a much needed channel for the youngsters' energy.

_The wings fight well. _Graesth informed her, rearranging her eggs in patterns only the queen could divine.

_Is B'ton ready for the changeover wings?_ Jurille asked, glancing up at the four green wings waiting along the rim of the Weyr. Greens lacked the stamina to fly an entire Fall, so the Weyrleader had divided them into two separate flights, only flying slightly longer than half of each Fall.

_No. this Fall still light._ Graesth replied, then looked up from her eggs at the empty sky. _Glorith comes._ Jurille smiled at her queen's pleasure as the Fortian brown appeared overhead. Dr'v, the nearly seventy Turn old rider, had been Fort Hold's harper before his surprise Impression, at the age of thirty. _He brings the Masterhealer_, Graesth warned her as she bugled a greeting to the brown as he landed near the Hatching sands. _He is very unhappy._ She added, touching noses to the brown.

Anyone else might worry about the senior queen's affection for the brown, but Jurille knew it stemmed from the queen's dragonet days when she napped against the older brown's flank.

"Welcome and welmet!" She called as Dr'v helped Master Cici, a white headed woman in her sixties, off his dragon.

"Jurille, you look lovely as ever." Dr'v said easily, although something in his demeanor suggested a warning.

"May I interest you in a refreshment, Master Cici?" She asked cordially. The shorter woman shook her head.

"Nay, but my thanks all the same, Weyrlady. I know you've wings fighting." She explained with a perfunctory wave. "I've just come from Congress."

Jurille felt her spine stiffen. While the Lord Holders met annually for Conclave, a Congress of the Craftmasters was a much rarer event, and usually predicated by an immense need.

"My apologies, Jurille, but the Crafthalls are in agreement. You are no longer welcome to Search from our ranks." Cici said, her tone final and somewhat saddened.

Jurille blinked, and only the strong surge of love from Graesth sent her kept her from rocking back on her heels.

"M-may I ask why?" She finally managed in the awkward silence that followed.

"You know why." Cici replied bluntly, then her expression softened. "It's not personal, Jurille, I promise you that. But you are not the only Weyr with eggs on the sands." The Masterhealer looked back at Dr'v.

"It's time I return my Hall, Brownrider."

Dr'v nodded, shooting Jurille a quick glance before he helped the Healer up on Glorith.

"One moment please," he said to her, then turned back to Jurille. "Don't look so devastated, Juri," he murmured, calling her by her fosterling name, "the Halls have pulled all their people from Benden."

"But, the candidates!" Jurille all but despaired, wringing her hands.

"You were always a clever one, Juri. Find a way." He winked at her and ran up Glorith's leg.

_Graesth, please bespeak Courath for me._ Jurille asked her queen as the brown leapt skyward and vanished.

_Yes, I-oh! _Jurille's gasp matched Graesth's mental one as the sky above the Bowl filled with golden bodies. Nor was she alone, as the entire Weyr stopped what they were doing as first eleven, then nineteen, then twenty-three queens appear above the Bowl.

_Everyone is here!_ Graesth stood at the edge of the Hatching Ground and touched muzzles with Courath, her mother._ Everyone is here to see _you. She added, her eyes whirling faster.

Brinda, Courath's rider and senior most queenrider in all of Pern, strode up to Jurille, pulling off her gloves.

"I suppose you just heard the news?"

"Just! How did you all get here so fast?" Jurille motioned to all the other queens. Brinda glanced over her shoulder with a satisfied look, as the other queenriders hurried to join them.

"I told them to time it," she said with a grim smile. "They need to hear this from the source, particularly since you and Benden are the only two with eggs at the moment."

"I know you have Fall, so I'll be quick. Ista stands ready to fly at your command." She added, modulating her voice so all the queenriders could hear.

"And High Reaches!" Called that Weyr's senior queenrider.

"And Fort!"

"And Igen!" Came the additional shouts.

"Thank you, but, we're not going to fly _en mass_ and demand C'seld's resignation!" As repulsive as the Weyrleader's actions were to Jurille, she baulked at the idea of forcing a conflict between dragons.

"No one said you had to," Meredad, the Igen Weyrwoman said, having moved to the center of the crowd. "But we _must_ do something."

Jurille took a deep breath, before plunging ahead.

"We must meet the father's obligation. I have the list, you'll receive a copy of it by tonight-"

"Both lists?" Gakate, Weyrwoman of Fort asked. Jurille grimaced internally.

"Both of them, even if I have to dangle Degal from the drumtower myself to get it." She vowed, causing a ripple of laughter through the crowd. The dangerous air eased a little as Jurille took another, looser breath.

"Sisters, this won't change overnight simply because we're meeting a need ten turns in the making. May I beg the pleasure of your company at a Turn's End meeting?" Twenty-three heads nodded in accord. "Good, we can reconvene then."

Impulse and inspiration seized her at the same moment and she added, "Can I ask that you offer conveyance to the Hall lads we've already promised a candidacy to?"

"Are we going to have to smuggle them out?" A younger queenrider asked with a broad grin.

"Quite possibly. I'll get that list to you as well." Jurille fleetingly wondered if Degal's mania for lists was infectious.

"Any chance Jentlth will rise before then?" Another junior queenrider from Ista asked.

"Plenty of chances, but Kimi is utterly devoted to C'seld." Brinda replied, making all the queenriders grimace. Rider preference _did_ affect mating flights regardless of what bronzeriders might tell themselves.

"I know a couple of bronzeriders that might change her mind." Someone called from the back.

"That I don't doubt." Brinda sniffed causing another ripple of laughter.

"I'd be rather surprised if we all didn't" Jurille interjected. "Hold onto those names, for if by Turn's End things haven't improved we may need to utilize _that _list."

_Wubath says to send the second wave. _Graesth announced. The four green wings looked up from the congregation of queens to their Wingleaders. With a precision usually reserved for the All Weyrs Games each Wing went aloft and vanished exactly three wing beats after leaping.

"Your Flight's looking good." Gakate remarked with a smile.

"They had an audience," Jurille retorted with a smile to her longtime friend.

"We'd better be going." Brinda announced with a sigh. "Come youngsters, before all of Pern learns of our Conclave." The queenriders dispersed in smaller groups returning to their dragons.

"Brinda, thank you." Jurille said sincerely, walking with the ninety-two turn old queenrider to her dragon.

"Nonesense. Thank you for agreeing to host the Queen's Meet." Brinda looked away listening to something beyond normal hearing. "You may not have to hang Degal from that drumtower, either. Dr'v's bringing Harper Algyr," she smiled impishly at Jurille as Courath kneeled down.

"Still keeping tabs on us?" Jurille asked, returning the smile.

"Always, lass." Brinda pat her shoulder before climbing up onto Courath. "Someone must keep a weather eye on the horizon when you choose to fight Thread in a windstorm."

* * *

_**The weyrlings' jumprope chant is copyright of Anne McCaffery, 1967.**_

_**Please don't hesitate to contact me if I've mispelt anything. I'm going to try to update with shorter chapters every Sunday for the month of April. **_


	7. Chapter 7

Charel yawned and stretched, bored. The drovers had been dithering with the Holder of Southbank for over an hour. If they didn't settle the conditions of the trade soon, the tithe herd would be traveling well past the twilight hour. Idly Charel wondered if the dragonriders would come looking for them if the tithe herd was overly late. She giggled to herself at the thought of a hungry dragon sneaking a peek at his lunch while his rider inquired of the drovers' schedule.

Something green streaked by her head and she ducked, then looked up in wonder as a miniature dragon landed on the fence post she had been leaning on. The little green peered down at her curiously.

"Sorry, is Flit bothering you?" Charel turned as a lanky man with a harper's knot joined her.

"She just surprised me- isshereallyafirelizard?" She asked in a rush as the little green preened.

"Yep," grinning, the harper handed her a bit of a meatroll. "Go on, give it to her."

The little fire lizard hopped from her fence post to Charel's shoulder eager for her treat. Charel laughed delightedly, feeding the little green the morsel.

"She's so soft and warm," Charel noted, "do dragons feel the same?"

"Yep," the harper replied, "I rode a blue once, to my first posting, his rider and I compared notes." He explained as Charel pet the green, who crooned with delight.

"Are they very similar? What about watchwhers? Does she flame like fighting dragons? What does she like to eat? What does-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" The harper laughed as she peppered him with questions. "I'll answer all your questions, just- one at a time."

Charel paused, prioritizing her questions.

"How much are they alike? Physiologically, I mean." She asked as Flit head butted her hand impatiently.

"Physiologically?" A smile tugged at the harper's lips.

"Well, the Teaching Ballads say that the dragons speak to their riders, but I've never heard about fire lizards talking the same way," Charel explained patiently, "so there must be some mental differences, maybe due to size, but physical difference? Is there any difference to their wings, or legs, or how their lungs work?"

"SHELT!" Reelon's bellow startled both of them and set the little green to flight. The harper turned and broke into a massive grin as Reelon strode towards them. The two men clasps hands, then pulled each other into a hug pounding each other on the back.

"How are you?" Reelon asked, pulling away to grasp the harper by the elbows as Flit lazily circled them. "Keeping out of trouble?"

"Never." Shelt disavowed, causing Reelon to laugh heartily. Reelon turned to his daughter.

"Charrie, this is Harper Shelt, we used to study together at Healer Hall."

"This is your daughter? Heh, I should have known." Shelt said with a shake of his head. "Charrie was it? Well, your father is being too kind. He's the only reason I passed our emergency aid course." He explained, grinning, then looked back at Reelon. "How is Gwedli?"

"Quite well, and quite the happy cotmistress." Reelon said, and rubbed Flit behind the eyeridge when the little green landed on his shoulder, her eyes whirling brilliant blue.

"You know my Ma?" Charel asked, mildly bemused by the green's capriciousness.

"Oh yes, I introduced you father to her." Shelt ribbed Reelon. "Biggest mistake in my life. She took one look at his brawny arms and fell head over heels in love with him. How's a poor harper supposed to compete with that?" He asked wistfully.

"It didn't hurt any that I was good looking to boot." Reelon ribbed the harper right back, causing him to laugh.

"There was that," he conceded. "Any chance you're staying for the night?" He added hopefully.

"Yes, actually I was coming to get Charrie here. The Hold's letting us use their washroom before we push on to Telgar." Charel looked up hopefully herself. While she didn't much mind the conditions on the road, the prospect of a bath was too enticing to pass up.

"Now?" She asked tentatively.

"Yes, now. So go get your kit and we'll wash out all your clothes while we're at it." Delighted, Charel dashed off to collect her things.

* * *

Brinda's windstorm analogy was eerily accurate, Jurille decided, suppressing a sigh. The Council Room was crowded, standing room only as the last few Wingleaders straggled in. The queenriders all arrived early enough to find seats, as did the Weyrhealer and Master Valtree, although the harper's two assistants had offered up their seats to Reema and Koru. Niko, the herdsman for the Weyr had been invited, but demurred, as his mate had gone into labor shortly after the Wings returned from Fall. If the faint humming of the dragons outside was any indication, labor was well advanced. Word of the other queens' visit had gotten around, but judging from the faces of the others, the whole story was rather confused.

"Everyone here?" B'ton asked, closing the door behind him. "Speak now or forever hold your tongue." He added lightly, and a nervous laugh went through the room, easing some of the tension.

"I believe our Weyrwoman has something to say to us." He turned his attention to Jurille, who stood.

"We received several... unexpected visitors today." Someone in the back of the room let out a derisive snort. Jurille chose to ignore it, as Tress distributed mugs of klah and sweet loaves. "First, Master Cici came by to inform us of the Halls decision to refuse Search."

"What?!" Reema gasped in startled silence. "What about the lads already promised a spot on the sands?" She demanded as an angry murmur broke out.

"Easy, sister, I'm getting to that." Jurille said cutting off further protestation. "After the Masterhealer left, the queens arrived."

"Which queens?" Asked one of the Wingleaders in the back. Jurille identified L'stur, the previous Weyrleader, and realized his Wing would have still been fighting during the queens' visit.

"All of them," some wit said, causing a new stir.

"Yes, as Z'dis has very concisely put it, the queens of Fort High Reaches, Ista, and Igen all came to offer their support," she looked back at Reema. "I rather imagine that all of our candidates, and perhaps even a few extras, will show up for the Hatching. But that's not why you have been called here." As succinctly as she could Jurille explained Benden's refusal to meet the father's obligation. Valtree, who had assisted Algyr and her apprentices copy out both lists nodded as Jurille spoke. When she finally finished and reached for her klah, the bronzeriders looked ready to do murder. _This is not good._ She sighed mentally to Graesth. _Would you _gently_ remind the bronzes that they are not to fly off in a righteous rage?_ Jurille added as several Wingleaders demanded action, only to fall into sudden silence as their dragons talked to them. _I didn't need to. Saegth beat me to it._ There was something of maternal pride in that comment. Jurille covered her smile with another sip of her drink.

"Our queens are already dealing with that." B'ton interjected, offering Jurille a moment's respite.

"You knew about this?" D'ael, one of the younger bronzeriders demanded. He had not, Jurille remembered, taken the surprised change in Weyrleadership with good grace.

"As of yesterday, yes. And even then our Weyrwomen were quick to point me in the right direction." B'ton replied evenly.

_Graesth, who is coaching B'ton?_ Jurille asked, surprised by the unusually politic answer. There was a long pause then, _Urlyra_.

Jurille glanced over at the junior queenrider and flashed her a quick smile. Urlyra acknowledged with the shallowest dips of her head.

"Friends." Jurille interrupted the staring match between the two bronzeriders. "We are dealing with this, but this is a problem ten Turns in the making. It will take time. Telgar will meet the obligation of all the children under our protectorate, and a fifth of those in Benden's lands. What I'd like is for you to choose two or three riders from your Wings, preferably blues and greens, to act as liaisons for the Weyr."

"Why not browns or bronzes?" D'ael demanded.

"Because right now there are a number of heartbroken women with grudges against bronzeriders." Pilana retorted waspishly, glaring at D'ael hard enough that he physically recoiled.

"Also, greens and blues can better tell if any of the youngsters will make good candidates." Koru added in barely above a whisper. All four queenriders asked their dragon to forward their gratitude to the youngest Weyrwoman, who turned even redder as the dragons did just that.

"Lastly, the Crafthalls have pulled their people from Benden." Jurille said setting her mug down. "Master Valtree has reassured me that we are in no danger of losing her services, nor those of Healer Zandur." The healer nodded.

"And Herdsman Niko?" L'stur asked, expression taut. Jurille cocked her head to one side, listening.

"I think... he is busy welcoming his firstborn into the world." All of the riders could hear the faint humming had stopped. "But he too plans on staying."

L'stur asked after a few more Hall-affiliated individual, questions B'ton took keen note of, least he miss some important information L'stur's long experience would have him privy to.

"So far as I know, we are not losing anyone. If anything, we can expect an influx of fosterlings." Jurille did not mention the four women from Benden's Lower Caverns that arrived courtesy of their weyrmates, requesting a place to stay for an indefinite period of time. Graesth had reported that other Weyrs had similar visits and that Benden was bereft of a full third of its non-riding population.

"Are there any other questions?" She asked, pushing that unpleasant thought aside.

"What are you going to do about C'seld?" D'ael asked belligerently, and from the expressions on many of the bronzerider's faces, he wasn't alone.

"Currently, we've our hands full with damage control. But make no mistake, we as in _all_ the queenriders, are working on this. We _will_ do something, and we will do something _soon._ In the meantime you are to fly clear of Benden's leadership." Jurille asked Graesth to reinforce that order among the dragons. "And see to it that your liaisons get whatever they need to meet the obligation." There was no room for argument in her tone.

"Yes, Jurille." D'ael dropped his eyes.

"Are there any other questions?" Jurille asked again and this time was met with silence. There would be more questions, she knew, in the days to follow, but for now it looked like the meeting was at an end.

"Very well then. Please have those names to me by the end of breakfast tomorrow." There was a murmur of accord, then the Wingleaders filed out of the room.

"They are going to have questions that they wouldn't ask me, B'ton. " Jurille said softly, and the Weyrleader nodded, dipping his head to the other queenriders, and following them out.

Valtree glanced at the queenriders on either side of her.

"Do you want to tell them or should I?" She asked Jurille.

"Benden's hemorrhaging people." Zandur said flatly, causing both women to look at him, surprised. He smiled mirthlessly. "You asked me to check over our new arrivals, a wise precaution. I may have done a little judicious questioning in the process."

Zandur was not a likeable person. He had the bedside manner of an uncooked tuber and his rough voice reminded patients of someone perpetually on the edge of losing their voice. But the dragons sensed intent over outward demeanor and the riders needed a no-nonsense healer to cut through the negative reinforcement the bond with their dragons created. That the dragons adored the curmudgeonly healer where the riders only marginally tolerated his presence was largely why he still remained at the Weyr, practicing his Craft.

"Graesth tells me that Benden has lost a full third of its non-riding population since the start of the Turn." Jurille explained, causing the other queenriders and Tress to wince.

"And we can expect more?" Pilana asked.

"Probably." Reema said dejectedly. "If too many more leave, C'seld's going to notice that meals aren't being cooked in time."

"What are the other colors doing?" Urlyra asked.

"Those in committed relationships have mostly gotten their weyrmates out, on the pretense of visiting extended family," Jurille grimaced. "Of those left, they stay out of loyalty to the dragons. After all, Thread continues to fall."

"We need to get another bronze to fly Jentlth." Koru said with a sad sort of finality.

"We do." Jurille agreed. "The Halls know that Telgar is spearheading the movement to meet the father's obligation, Harper Algyr was kind enough to reassure me, but Koru's right, a change of leadership is badly needed."

"Kimi's not a bad Weyrwoman" Reema said with a frustrated sigh. "She just can't see past C'seld's pretty brown eyes."

"Would any Benden rider be willing to inform us of the next time Jentlth rises?" Pilana asked. "Not as they love their dragons," Reema said, shaking her head. "And realistically, it's not fair for us to ask one of them. No, I have an inside source C'seld will never think of." She grinned predatorily. "Wilth is listening for Reelu's 'shout'. In fact, she's how I came across this." Reaching under the table Reema pulled out a rolled up hide. Unrolling it the riders and Hall folk leaned forward and recognized the outline of Pern.

"That's Pern, but these aren't the names of the Holds." Pilana said, studying the map.

"Noooo," Reema drawled out the word. "Those are the names of all the conquests of one rider." She glanced at Jurille, who arched her eyebrows, "I already checked, they are all on the list."

"How did you get this?" Jurille asked.

"Part of her job as Archivist is to help clean out the weyrs of those who've died. This was found in D'kan's weyr.

Jurille looked down at her hands and suffered a moment of real regret. D'kan- Durkan, as she had met him when he had been searched by Telgar, had been an affable young man who exhibited excellent leadership qualities. She had rather hoped he would impress a bronze, and when he failed at Telgar, she had recommended him to Benden.

"Reelu says most bronzeriders have one of these somewhere in their weyrs." Reema continued.

"That's disturbing," Zandur said dryly.

"Worst, C'seld is the one that commissioned these maps." Reema made a face. "He _knows_ what's going on, he's encouraging it."

"I've changed my mind." Valtree announced, standing. "I'm in favor of letting your bronzes challenge C'seld at the first opportunity."

"I'd agree with you, if we were in an Interval." Jurille muttered over the rim of her mug. "But that is an encounter no Weyr can afford during a Pass. No, harper, while I sympathize, I cannot condone a duel."

Valtree huffed slightly, then grudgingly agreed. "I defer to you in this Jurille, now, if you'll excuse us, my apprentices and I have some new students to meet."

"I think if I was C'seld," Zandur noted dourly as the harpers left. "I would be very nervous about any to come from her quill any time soon."

* * *

**_Updated!_**


	8. Chapter 8

"Green, brown and blue are the colors that fly true,

when the Weyr is roused to fight.

Bronzes lead them higher,

as the queens do aspire,

to flame what Thread,

makes it through the flight

Where's the rock for firestoning?

Where's the coordinates we're going?

Check your harness, check helmet,

make sure they fit just right.

Be sure to get good rest,

for tomorrow we will test,

our flame against Thread in the dawn's early light.

Dragons that are green,

are amazing to be seen,

speed and bursts of fire,

their weapons of choice.

Though quick to tire,

they fight with mad desire,

and roar after Thread with one voice.

Where's the rock for firestoning?

Where's the coordinates we're going?

Check your harness, check helmet,

make sure they fit just right.

Be sure to get good rest,

for tomorrow we will test,

our mettle against Thread in the dawn's early light."

Slora, Keslo's sister sang the Colors Song in the sweetest tenor as Charel and Shelt provided the melody.

Charel had been both pleased and flustered when the harper suggested they play together. With the drovers stamping in time to the Teaching song, the after dinner festivities were well underway way when a brown firelizard appeared, his eyes whirling yellow, a scrap of vellum tied to his leg.

"I thought you only had the green." The Holder said in the sudden quiet as Shelt put down his guitar to coax the agitated brown into landing.

"I do. This is my sister's lizard." He explained, untying the message and reading it. "Ah, and now she has a son as well," he smiled and turned the note over. His smile faded a little.

"What's wrong?" Slora asked as Charel whispered to her father "Girls can impress browns?"

"Ah," the harper smiled, but this time disingenuously. "The birth apparently was a hard one. The midwife sent Garnet here to keep him out of the healer's way."

"Firelizards and watchwhers both," Reelon whispered back. "Fort's wherhandler is the youngest daughter of the Lord Holder, and Fortsk is a brown."

"Your sister named him Garnet? Why? He's not red." One of the older girls asked, wrinkling her brow.

Shelt laughed.

"Because in our minehold, the garnets the miners unearthed are a brownish almost red color." He grinned at the question as he offered the little brown a tidbit from his plate.

"Has Garnet flown Flit?" Another child, a much younger boy, asked. Several of the adults winced at the innocently posed question.

"Not to my knowledge." Shelt said as Flit wound her tail around his neck. She chirped to the little brown, whose eyes slowed and moved back into green. "She always goes _between_ when she rises. I presume to find other firelizards, but since I've never seen her lay eggs either, I don't know if she's successful." The ease with which he answered that question suggested that he'd been asked many times in the past.

"How about another song?" He asked abruptly. "I happen to have the newest reel from Harper Hall if anyone is interested."

Many were, and in short order the tables were pushed aside and the dancers lined up.

* * *

Much later that evening as Charel snuggled down into her sleeping furs, she wondered about the woman with a brown firelizard. If firelizards and watchwhers could Impress indiscriminate of gender, might not dragons do the same? Staring at the stars twinkling through the open barn entrance, she wondered how many generations of breeding it took to get a firelizard large enough to ride. But then, watchwhers were also bred from firelizards, so would crossbreeding them result in a really large firelizard, the way crossing two fancy breeds of poultry would result in a common bird? Or had watchwhers become too genetically different from dragons to crossbreed? These questions and others chased about in her mind like firelizards at play until at last she drifted off.

* * *

Jurille sat at the breakfast table with a group of blue and green riders. For a sevenday they had been tracking down the children of Benden's bronzeriders. It was depressing, she realized, the infant mortality rate in the smaller Holds where any unplanned pregnancy meant an unwanted extra mouth to feed. By not meeting the father's obligation, the Benden riders had condemned too many children to a slow death by starvation. Crafthalls were universally the opposite. Not only did the vast majority of the children survive infancy, the Halls took a certain amount of pride in having dragonseed in their midst. What the Halls wanted for their father's obligation was to have the children fostered at the Weyrs, and a chance to stand on the Hatching Grounds as candidates. The Holds more often demanded compensation in the form of Marks, in the case of larger Holds, and also food aid in the case of smaller holds. Discouraged, Jurille wondered if that didn't point to a larger problem with 'Holder mentality' in regards to women and their perceived usefulness. Certainly, it was suspect that twice the number of baby girls died compared to boys, but the death of any child to something as preventable as hunger was heartbreaking.

"Jurille, my Holders are insisting that we take the children as soon as they are weaned." K'kan said apologetically. Jurille nodded. It was not the first time in the last seven days that that particular demand had been laid at the feet of the Weyr.

_Bring them to the Weyr. My children can be mates to their children._ Graesth rumbled from the Hatching Grounds.

"If the mothers are insistent, then we'll arrange a place for them. In the meantime make sure the cot has all the food they need," Jurille said, then added, "but the rest of you, don't offer to bring them here unless you have reason to believe the child is in danger."

"And if the mother is in danger?"

Two days before a greenrider had been handed a toddler by a teary eyed mother with a large bruise on her jaw. As she returned to the cot the Holder stepped out and backhanded her with such force that she had stumbled back and struck her head on the stone of the pathway. It was only the timely intervention of the green's Wingleader that had saved the Holder from a savage mauling at the hands of both rider and dragon. The mother, and the little girl, were now both safely ensconced in the Healer's weyr.

"Dragonriders protect all of Pern, not just the parts we like." Jurille chided softly. The greenrider dropped his gaze, properly embarrassed. "But if the mother asks, and it's clear she's being abused, bring them both back. We can always use an extra set of hands in the Lower Caverns."

"Especially this close to numbweed season?" One of the older greenriders asked sardonically.

"Especially." Jurille agreed with a smile. One of the changes she had implemented as Weyrwoman was to move the rendering of numbweed from the Lower Caverns to an outdoor pasture. Since early spring misbehaving weyrlings had the dubious pleasure of collecting dried cowchips, and storing them in one of the smaller firestone storerooms until the women of the Lower Caverns were ready to use them to fuel the fires that would reduce the fibrous foliage into the gelatinous mass, that once strained, would settle into the blessed numbing salve so crucial to tending injured dragonpairs. Moving the operation outdoors had met with a lot of resistance, until the women of the Lower Caverns discovered that meals didn't taste of medicine and their weyrmates weren't avoiding them for reeking of the process. Still anyone who could get out of the smelly duty did, with an alacrity that bemused even the most seasoned of foster parent.

"One last piece of business, then I'll let you return to your breakfasts. The Weyrhealer will be flying with those of you that have reported illness at your Holds." Her announcement was met with a smattering of groans and eye rolling. "Ah-ah, don't think any of you are getting out of it. I want Zandur to have a chance to assess all of the Holds before the end of the Turn so don't be surprised if you have an extra passenger." She stood, having a long list of things to do before rendezvousing with Tress.

* * *

**_*Sigh* Apologies, I know it's a cardinal sin to tell not show in literature, but Anne was so vague about certain aspects of Pernese life that I'm spending a lot of time going back and filling in the hows to explain the why people do what they do. _**

**_Does anyone know how to tighten up the HTML code so I can group the song in proper verses?_**

**_As per usual, any and all grammatical and spelling errors being pointed out to me is greatly appreciated._**


	9. Chapter 9

Charel gawked. There was no other word to describe the way her head swiveled back and forth as the entered the main gates of Telgar Hold.

"So pup, what do you think?" Reelon asked as they moved the herd through the main thoroughfare in the late afternoon.

Charel wrinkled her nose, unaware that Keslo and Old Larst were also listening.

"It's big, but it's also too crowded," she said, as Old Larst burst out laughing.

"Oh, she's your seed, Reelon~" He laughed, nudging his runner ahead to steer a wayward bull back in line.

"If it's any consolation," Keslo offered, slowing up his runner so he was riding along side of her, "I prefer the open range to the Holds myself."

"I'm sure it's a very nice Hold," Charel said, trying to defend her position. "And I think I might like to visit it during a Gather, but I'm not certain I'd like to be surrounded by all these people all of the time." She explained as the herd moved past holders returning from their daily tasks for the evening meal.

"You might consider getting used to the idea, pup. Halls are just as crowded." Reelon warned.

"They are?" Charel asked and mulled the idea over as they brought the herd into the large covered corral. Once the herd was settled and she drew water for the trough, she and Reelon joined the other drovers as they enjoyed a dinner with Telgar's nightwatch. One of the nightwatch wore a knot similar to a dragonrider's knot, but with a silver cord in place of the dragon's color. Keslo beckoned them over, pointing to the seats next to him, and opposite the not-dragonrider. The nightwatch not-dragonman glanced at her perplexed look.

"Something wrong lad?"

"I've never heard of a silver dragon," she replied, not seeing any point in correcting the older man. The nightwatch crew chuckled, and the not-rider smiled chagrined, recognizing his mistake.

"That's because I'm a wherhandler, lass." He explained, passing her a platter of sliced wherry. "But good eye. Most people aren't familiar with my knot, and assume I work for the Weyr."

"That's silly. No Weyr has the same colors as the Hold, and you are also wearing watch leathers." Charel said, and passed her father a basket of dinner rolls.

The wherhandler smiled faintly at that, then glanced at Reelon. "Your lass is sharp. Ever consider her for wherhandling?"

Reelon looked over at Charel, who was pinking at the not so subtle compliment.

"I rather thought she might like to decide that for herself." He replied, taking a long drink of the small ale poured into his cup. The wherhandler looked back at Charel.

"Would you like to meet my green?"

* * *

Jurille found Urlyra and Reema playing cribbage in the Council Room, not all that uncommon an occurrence, given that Thread was due the following afternoon. A half-eaten plate of tartlets and an almost empty pitcher of _klah_ suggested that they had been going at it for some time.

Smiling at the competitive silence between the two Jurille helped herself to the last of the _klah_, now cold, and nibbled on a bogberry tartlet, as she studied the scoreboard. The red peg was two holes ahead of the blue peg, but both pegs were less than ten holes from the finish. If the players were careful and played their cards right, they could conceivably peg out without having to count their hands. With a fierce frown Reema discarded two cards. Urlyra, clearly loathing to part with her discards added her two cards to the crib. She then cut the deck for Reema, who turned up a five.

_ Wilth says Reema has a run from seven to ten, but Freeth says Urlyraa has two fives, an ace and a four._ Graesth informed her unbidden. Jurille hid her smile behind her mug. Urlyra had already won, if she could keep Reema from pegging.

"Start." Reema stared at Urlyra. Urlyra laid down her four of dragons, face up. Reema made a face, and played her ten of hammers. Grinning Urlyra played her ace, and moved her peg even to Reema's. Scowling Reema played her nine of hammers. Blandly Urlyra played her five of dragons.

"Go." Grumbled Reema, as Urlyra took another point. With a sigh Reema played through her cards, finally collecting a solitary point, as Urlyra showed her entire hand.

"Fine, you win!" Reema threw her cards down and mock glared at Urlyra who gleefully shuffled the cards together.

"What was the wager?" Jurille asked curiously.

"Point, for tomorrow's Fall." Reema grimaced theatrically. Jurille chuckled appreciatively. When Graesth wasn't tethered to the Hatching Grounds flying point in the Queens Wing would be her duty. In her absence, Urlyra and Reema, being the same age, had been jockeying for the privilege.

"What are you hearing from the ground crews?" Jurille asked.

"About the father's obligation?" Urlyra asked, dealing each of them five cards as Reema added yellow pegs to the peg board. "Nothing much, mostly it's about the weather and the harvest, although Holder Ramis won't shut up about his prize winning runner." The queenriders laughed.

"Has anyone told him that a fast runner is that much a sweeter meal to our beasts of burden?" Reema asked with a wicked grin.

_I resemble that remark. _Wilth informed all three queenriders.

_So do I. _Graesth chimed in.

_Not I. Slow ones are just as tasty and I don't have to work so hard to catch them_. Freeth disagreed. Their riders snickered.

"Well, two out of three beasts of burden then." Jurille grinned, and started the count.

* * *

**_Another short chapter this week, so I could do a really good job on the next two chapters (had to break up the mega chapter I had into three smaller units). Next week, watchwhers and dragons, oh mai~ _**

**_As always, please correct me if you catch something out of place._**

**_Lastly, for those of you that have read Todd's ... er _****contibutions****_ to the world of Pern, has he ever written about twin dragonets being hatched from the same egg?_**


	10. Chapter 10

Namul, the wherhandler, took Charel down to the watchwher enclosure. Keslo decided to tag along, freeing Reelon to stay and chat up the nightwatch about the condition on the road up to the Weyr and other problems.

Charel was giddy with the prospect, but properly respectful when Namul told her to wait outside the enclosure, as he made chirping noises. There was a rustling sound, then a pair of lantern eyes looked out at them. Charel's breath caught as a second pair of eyes opened and both a blue and green watchwher emerged from the stone shack. The green chirped back at him and gamboled over to him, headbutting him playfully.

"Charrie, Keslo, it's safe for you to enter." Namul called, rubbing the green behind the eyeridge.

"Hello Telgarsk." Keslo said, and chirped. The green blinked, then the blue replied with a quizzical chirp.

"No, no, my lovely lady is Namusk. Telgarsk looks to my mate." He pointed to a woman dressed in watch leathers carrying a lidded bucket, walking towards them. He whistled, and she waved back, hastening her step.

"Welmet, I'm Fulsa." She said by way of greeting, before her mate enveloped her in a large hug. "Mmm, hello pet," she murmured, hugging him in return as Telgarsk opened and closed his wings impatiently.

"I haven't forgotten about you, Telly," she told the watchwher, and opened the bucket. Both watchwhers leaned forward eagerly. Fulsa pulled out a long eel and tossed it to Namusk, who caught it midair and slurped in down like an overly long noodle. The blue demanded to be handfed, and daintily took the eel from Fulsa, provoking much teasing from Namul about pampering her watchwher.

"No more than you pamper yours when she has eggs." Fulsa retorted good naturedly, rubbing her blue under the jaw. Telgarsk hummed with pleasure, his eyes glowing blue. Neither beast wore a collar or chains.

"Eggs? The wherqueen allows you to breed?" Keslo looked surprised. Namul nodded as the smaller of Pern's moons peered over the horizon.

"There's always demand for the smaller colors, particularly with all the new mining going on. The wherqueen gave Keroon and us dispensation to breed." He rubbed Namusk's neck when she headbutted him again. "Not that my darling produces many eggs, only four or five every other Turn." He smiled apologetically at the green who merely burbled in pleasure.

Both watchwhers suddenly turned their heads in the direction of the main hold, their eyes whirling faster and the color rapidly changing to yellow shot with red.

"What is it?" Charel asked as everyone tried to see what caught the watchwhers' attention. Telgarsk, with a speed that surprised Charel dashed up to the wall of the enclosure, hissing as Namusk positioned herself between the humans and the wall the blue was peering over intently.

"That's strange," Fulsa blinked and looked over at her mate. "Did Namusk recognize him?"

"No, so it's not one of the regulars." Namul said as the watchwhers relaxed and returned to their humans.

"We have a ...cadre of miscreants-"

"-overly exuberant youths-" Namul interjected with a nervous look over his shoulder.

"-including the Lord Holder's son," Fulsa continued, nonplussed, "that like to 'test' our watchwhers."

"Have you told the Lord Holder?" Keslo asked, surprised and mildly worried.

"Oh yes, but, short of catching they in the act, he tends to overlook them as acts of youthful indiscretion." Namul explained.

"Until someone gets hurt," Fulsa grumbled. "_Then_ it'll be the watch's fault."

"Are you both nightwatch?" Charel asked. Namul shook his head.

"No, Namusk and myself are, but Fulsa and Telgarsk act as watch liaisons and personal guards to the Lady Holder."

"When she's out and about," Fulsa added, walking over to the stone shack and retrieving an odd harness from inside. "Which she's not, tonight, so we're going out for a little exercise. Would you like to help me get Telly into his harness?"

"May I?" Charel asked, keenly interested in seeing how the harness went together.

Telgarsk tilted his head to one side, his lantern eyes studying her as she cinched up the leather straps under Fulsa's direction. Finished, she took a step back only to have him take a step forward making a snuffling noise as he touched his snout to her forehead.

Keslo made a move as if to protest, only to stop when Namul caught his wrist and very slightly shook his head. A look passed between the two men, and Keslo forced himself to relax.

"You're tickling me, Telgarsk." Charel said, gently pushing the blue away the same way she might an overly curious runner. The blue snorted and glanced at Fulsa who was grinning broadly.

Charel looked at the kitted out watchwher, puzzled.

"This is no saddle or riding gear like I've ever seen." She finally admitted.

"That's because it's not." Fulsa make click-whistle to which Telgarsk responded by offering his foreleg as a step. Fulsa took the step then swung up onto the blue's neck. The watchwher turned his head and regarded her with a bemused 'fancy meeting you here' expression.

"As you can see, I can ride perfectly fine without the harness, but the harness is essential if I want to do something fancier than riding. Care for a demonstration?"

* * *

Fulmar, the captain of the watch, sat with the drovers and shared a skin of local white wine, a little sweeter than the reds Reelon was used to.

"The road is steep, but we've been keepin' it clear of rock fall, so you should have no problems gettin' up to the Weyr." He explained, pointing out on the Hold map of where they were, and where they were going. "Iffin' you set out tomorrow, after Fall, you should make it to the shelter afore sunset." He shifted a little in his seat. "I know it's an inconvenience, but I would recommend you holin' up for the night with the door barred. The Holdless are growing bold, this close to the end of the Pass," he added darkly, tapping the symbol of the Thread shelter.

"Is this a new development?" Reelon asked, vaguely unsettled at the thought of rustlers so close to the Weyr. Fulmar frowned.

"No, attempts on the tithe trains have happened on and off since the Weyr was founded. What has changed is where and the frequency." Fulmar glanced out the slot window towards the mountains. "Near as we can tell, the Holdless have gotten organized, and very likely have a watchwher of their own, since they always seem to know when the Weyr sends out a random sweeprider. Furthermore the attacks only happen at night." He sighed.

"That would be the best time to attack even if they didn't have a wherbeast with them," Reelon said, absently rubbing his scarred arm. "Dragons prefer to sleep when the sun goes down."

"So do cattle." Old Larst grunted, looking at the watch captain. "What's your advice then? Only hole up overnight?"

Fulmar took his time answering.

"Do you carry live steel?" He finally asked, putting down his empty cup.

"Sword or field knives?" Old Larst countered, arching an eyebrow, "For all my drovers carry field knives."

"Swords," Fulmar sighed. "I'd feel better iffin' you all carried swords for this last part of your trip."

"Swords? Why ever for?" Branth asked joining the drovers at the table.

"Tithe thieves. Where were you?" Old Larst demanded.

"Privy. Got turned around on my way back," Branth replied, pulling a seat over. Old Larst grunted, and turned back to Fulmar.

"How does your Lord feel about loaning out swords?"

"He's ordered me to offer that, iffin' you hadn't asked. How many do you need?"

"There's eleven of us." Old Larst said, draining his own cup.

"Only ten, please. Charrie hasn't been trained in swords." Reelon spoke up. Old Larst glanced at the journeyman, then nodded.

"Best train her up once you get home, Reelon, yer lass has the make of a good drivemaster." He stated, and ignored the startled looks from the other drovers. Fulmar smiled, standing.

"If you will join me in the armory then...?"

The drovers preferred short sabers to the long swords the watch carried, Fulmar noted, as the men picked through the weapons, hefting and testing the swords for weight and balance. Reelon approached him, with a polite cough.

"I know I said Charrie was untrained in swordplay, but do you have a boot knife she could carry?"

"Does she throw?" Fulmar asked, leading him over to a shelf.

"She hits as often as she misses." Reelon offered with a little shrug.

"Here then." Fulmar pulled down a case and opened it to Reelon. Looking through the knives Reelon withdrew the shortest of the throwing blades, Telgar Hold's device stamped into the hilt.

"A bit long for a boot knife," Reelon noted, collecting its sheath from the case, "but it has good balance."

"That's the point. Iffin' the Holdless are watching, I _want_ them to see everyone armed to the teeth."

Reelon nodded, recognizing the wisdom in that. "My thanks. Where would you like my mark?" Fulmar directed him to the armorer's desk and the ledger, where each drover wrote their name and noted the type of weapon borrowed.

Walking back from the armory, the drovers were treated to the sight of the watchwhers flying overhead, dropping and catching something between them. The drovers stopped to watch, and in doing so, Reelon noticed they weren't the only watchers. Several groups of holders gathered at different vantage points as the watchwhers landed and raced each other through a series of parallel poles. The green made it through before the blue and triumphantly carried the pendant hanging from the final pole to Namul, who rewarded her with caresses and another eel.

"Ah she's puttin' them through their paces." Fulmar grunted, joining catching up to the drovers.

"She?" Reelon asked.

"My daughter. Telgarsk looks to her," the watch captain wore a satisfied smile, "looks like she's got your daughter in the act." He added as Charel laid down, and the blue gingerly picked her up, walking the length of the enclosure to gently deposit her at Fulsa's feet. Namusk, not to be outdone, picked up Keslo and carried him, although her gait was closer to a hop and involved a great deal of wing flapping, much to the amusement of the gathered watchers. As Namul kitted his green in a similar harness, Fulsa put Charel on Telgarsk's back and stepped into one of the harness's many foot and handholds, directing Keslo to do the same on the other side. With deceptive ease the blue jogged once around the enclosure, then caused the crowd to gasp and cheer as he leapt into the air, and flew from the enclosure to the main gate and back again. When he landed Keslo promptly let go of the harness and kissed the ground as the crowd roared with laughter.

"I'm goin' to have to have a talk with that girl of mine." Fulmar said, shaking his head. Reelon had long abandoned him, working his way to the front of the crowd in from of the entrance of the enclosure, suffering an attack of concern for his own child.

Charel dismounted with the same careless grace that she would a runner, giving the blue a fond pat on the neck. Turning she saw her father and grinned at him, going to meet him.

"Pa! Did you see us flying?" She asked.

Telgarsk let out a little mournful noise as she left, and Fulsa rubbed him reassuringly behind the eye ridge.

"Yes pup, I did." Reelon replied shakily, doing his best to mask his own anxiety. "You were very brave." He added, ruffling her hair.

"It was fun! And so much better than riding Socks!" She gave him a half apologetic look. "I didn't even know you could ride a watchwher!"

Fulsa chuckled, joining them at that moment. "My lovely flames too, if I have your father's permission to let you feed him firestone."

"Ah..." Reelon gave her a beseeching look as Fulmar edged through the crowd.

"Nonsense. You know full well you're not to firestone down here." He grumbled, frowning at his daughter. "Take your overgrown firelizard to the fireheights, girl, and quit tryin' to corrupt the youths."

"Hah! You only wish I did!" Fulsa sassed back, but was already making the hand gestures to Telgarsk to fly up to the fireheights. With a great snort the blue leapt up into the air and vanished.

"Oh! He went _between_?" Charel asked, clearly enchanted.

"Oh yes," Fulsa said with a cheeky grin, "Watchwhers are dragonkin after all." She walked with them as the crowd dispersed and the drovers headed to the guest cot. "Will I see you at breakfast?"

"I'd like to, if that's alright, Pa?" Charel looked at her father, who nodded.

"So long as it's only breakfast, and no firestone lessons." Reelon said mock seriously. Fulsa glanced at him for a moment, making sure he was joking, then chuckled, and left them at the base of the fireheight stairs with a wave good night.

* * *

**_So... Happy Mother's Day! _**

**_I feel very strongly that the watchwhers are very much under utilized, even by Todd. In the hands of a compentant guardsman (or the daughter of a Hold's watch) a watchwher could easily accomplish as much and more than a trained guard dog. The Hold watch is another highly under utilized aspect of Pernese life neither McCaffery went into at all, but any Hold the size of the major Holds would need some form of quasi-police force. Also, one of these days I'm going to write a fic about Ista Hold's watch. It'll be a Pernese version of CSI/Hawaii 5-0. ;)_**

**_As always, please point out any and all mistake I make so I can fix them~_**


	11. Chapter 11

B'ton blinked awake, momentarily disoriented as the light was coming from the wrong side of the room. Next to him Jurille sleepily murmured something about bogberries as she nestled deeper in her sleeping furs. B'ton smiled softly over at her, tenderly smoothing a stray silver shot lock from her face.

_Did you sleep well? _Wubath, inquired, sunning himself just below the watchheights.

_Better than well, my thanks. How is the Weyr?_

_Quiet, but the Lower Caverns are rousing._ Wubath took pride in being an early riser, although B'ton suspected it was mostly to get prime sunning spots.

_Good_. B'ton was about to sink back into sweet slumber when Wubath showed him the image of the Weyrhealer heading for the Weyrwoman's weyr. _Does he wish to speak to me or Jurille?_

_I shall ask._ Wubath, like other dragons, found talking to the Weyrhealer far easier than talking to other non-riders.

_He wishes to speak to the both of you._

With a sigh B'ton sat up and tickled Jurille awake.

"Mmmm...? Morning already?" She asked, then yawned.

"Zandur wants to talk with us." B'ton explained, locating his pants on the floor.

"Of course he does." Jurille grimaced good naturedly, and sat up to collect her shift from the end of the bed. "Call down for some _klah_, please."

B'ton nodded as Jurille pulled on her shift and twisted her hair up into a bun, when there was a cough at the entrance of the weyr.

"Come in, Zandur." Jurille said, slipping on her sandals and padding out to meet him in the sitting room, as B'ton called down the service shaft.

The service shaft rumbled causing B'ton to miss the Healer's greeting in so much as he offered one. Pulling his tunic over his head he listened as Jurille made soothing noises, then picked up the tray and joined them. The Weyrwoman sat on one couch as the Weyrhealer sat on the opposite one. B'ton placed the tray on the low table in the middle. Jurille poured the _klah _and offered the first one to Zandur, who accepted with a sour expression.

"What can we do for you?" Jurille asked, her tone still soothing.

"I want your leave to attend the three holds we discussed before Fall." The Healer said without preamble.

"That's doable. I can assign a Weyrling-" B'ton began.

"I want C'bay and Mirrth permanently assigned to me." Zandur interrupted.

"Why?" Jurille beat B'ton to the question.

"Because you're not using them, and you know full well that they aren't going to grow anymore." He glared so hard at them that both Wubath and Graesth woke up, and asked their riders what was wrong.

"Well, Master Cici, did deem her a throwback-" B'ton said defensively, then flinched as the Weyrhealer slammed down his mug.

"That is precisely the problem! That word! You've destroyed a perfectly good dragonpair with one word!" Zandur's grey eyes flashed with fury. "So what, she can't last out a Fall, no green can! So what that she's small? She's also the fastest dragon in the Weyr, just ask any of the other dragons! Your refusal to let them participate in their primary function is destroying them! What is their purpose for existence, now that you deem them unworthy to fight Thread? Give them to me, let every holder associate them with me, so that at every Gather and among every ground crew Mirrth is instantly identified with Healercraft. Let C'bay become the face of help, even if I'm not immediately accessible- Mirrth can speak to me as easily as he does C'bay and the lad far more affable than myself. I may not be as exciting as Threadfall, but I can be the purpose you have stolen from them." Finished with his little tirade, Zandur refilled his mug and drank it while Weyrleader and the Weyrwoman collected their shattered thoughts in stunned silence. Jurille turned and met B'ton's glance.

"You- that is, we can do that." She said when B'ton didn't offer any objections.

"Good," with a curt nod Zandur strode out of the weyr.

"How long has C'bay been out of the Weyrling Barracks?" Jurille asked B'ton, still unnerved by the Healer's outburst.

"At least a Turn..." B'ton rubbed the back of his neck. "Gl'tek hasn't released their names to the Lists yet." Privately B'ton wondered why he had failed to notice the inclusion of the smallest green in the Wings. A speedy green was an invaluable asset in the upper flight.

"Please speak with him today." Jurille urged and handed him a warm mug.

"I will." B'ton promised, drinking deeply of that draught.

* * *

Reelon collected his bowl of cereal from one the kitchen, and turned, scanning the 'Small Hall', as the Holders dubbed the utility hall, for his daughter. Charel was chatting animatedly with the wherhandlers, doubtlessly peppering them with the same questions she had asked him the previous night.

"Journeyman." Reelon glanced to his left, curious as to who was addressing him by his title. Fulmar strode up to him purposely.

"Good morning, Captain." He replied politely.

Fulmar smiled at the courtesy and directed Reelon a little to one side.

"A moment of your time," he said reassuringly, "I'd like to talk to you about your daughter."

"Charrie? What happened?" Reelon glanced back over to where Namul was demonstrating hand signals.

"Nothing happened. I spoke with Old Larst, and he thinks your girl has a good head on her shoulders. Namul and Fulsa both spoke favorably about she handled herself with the watchwhers."

"Yes?" Reelon queried, curious as to where this was leading.

"I am also given to understand that you will be sending her to the Beastcrafthall in the summer." Fulmar studied the younger man,

"Yes, she's old enough to be apprenticed."

"Well, it would be a short fosterling, but if you wish, Fulsa and I would be happy to foster Charrie between then and now. She'd learn whercraft from Fulsa and Namul, and swordplay from me."

Reelon opened his mouth then shut it for a moment, considering. "I will need her in the spring for the lambing and shearing. And I'd need to discuss this with my mate." He replied hesitantly.

"Not a problem." Fulmar clapped Reelon on the back. "Enjoy your breakfast."

Charel flashed a smile at her father as he approached the table, and with fatherly affection he listened as she relayed the answers to the questions to her questions from the night before. Namul nudged Fulsa when Charel repeated signal perfect the command signals. Charel paused, and gave him a perplexed look.

"Those hand signals are a lot like hand dancing. Is that because watchwhers see heat patterns?"

"You know, I never thought about it," Fulsa said, toying with her spoon. "But that makes a lot of sense, when you consider that many of the hand signals the deaf use they don't seem to see."

"The deaf have their own hand signals?" Charel asked, her breakfast cold and forgotten.

"Oh yes, there's even Harpers who specialize in their language of signals, so they can teach the children's' mothers how to 'talk' to their babies. We had one here three turns ago, when the cook realized her babe couldn't hear. Harper Pijac came here for here for oh, eighteen months? –until the cook was fluent in both spoken and signal." Namul said, as Fulsa stole some of his cereal.

"Mmm," Fulsa agreed, "she left a dragonback, to go to Nerat right before Turnover – apparently the Seaholder's firstborn was suspected of being deaf."

"What happens when they get older?" Charel asked faintly frowning.

"Depends on the person, really," Fulsa replied, "but I've heard that Smithhall likes them for smithy work, and the Farmhall likes then for plant work."

"I met one who had impressed a firelizard," Namul added. "Quietest dragonkin I've ever met. But trained up like a treat."

"What did he do for a living?" Charel asked as Reelon finished his breakfast and refilled his mug with _klah_.

"He was an apprentice Healer, worked in the Hold nursery." Namul's description elicited a chuckle from Reelon, who remembered the lungs on his own baby daughters.

"But he was on his way to try for a watchwher egg, said he wanted to help found a hold for other deaf folk. I wonder what happened to him."

* * *

Mirrth and C'bay were nowhere to be seen, Jurille noticed as she helped set up the healers' station. Usually organizing it fell to Tress, but Jurille decreed all land bound queenriders had to take their turn in doing so, which inevitably freed up Tress to organize the start of the numbweed rendering process. With Fall slated to occur directly over Telgar Hold and stretch out to the Weyr, there was a distinct air of professionalism in the preparation of this Fall, as if the dragons and riders took this direct strike as a personal insult. A small knot of weyrlings were teaching the newest additions the fine art of rope skipping when all the dragons turned their heads skyward.

_What's wrong?_ Jurille asked Graesth, who hissed.

_There's been a murder. The Weyrhealer is furious._ She replied, curling possessively around her eggs.

_You're listening in on Zandur?_ While it was not unheard of, it was certainly unusual.

_He thinks loudly._ Graesth retorted, then relaxed. _Mirrth comes._ Eight heartbeats later the smallest green appeared above them and gently glided in for the softest landing imaginable. C'bay was white under his rider's tan, and wordlessly passed two youngsters, twins with a persistent cough, if Jurille remembered correctly, off to women from the Lower Caverns before Mirrth leapt back into the air.

_Where are they going? Where's Zandur? _Jurille asked, directing the woman to give the toddlers baths. The two were rank from their own soiled clothes.

_To get the Weyrhealer. He's trying to keep the children's grandfather alive from an overdose of fellis._ Graesth reported, and watched the going ons from her vantage point on the Sands.

_Did he murder their mother? _Jurille asked miserably. There was a short pause as Graesth asked.

_No, the woman's mate did. The grandfather blames himself, however. _Graesth paused again, then, _Mirrth is taking them to Healerhall, and then to Telgar, to claim the Murdered's right from the Lord Holder. _

"Ballsy and ill-timed." She muttered.

"Sounds just like Zandur." B'ton said, carrying his flight helmet. "I told Wubath to tell him to get Master Cici before going to Lord Kestle. Our healer might be turned away because of his bedside manner, but Kestle would never refuse Cici."

"Wise choice." Jurille glanced at him again. "Red flying jacket?" She asked, noting the new flight gear.

"And brown pants." B'ton quipped, smiling at her and easing the tension.

"Fly safe, youngster, " she said, surprising him with a hug.

* * *

_**Sorry for the slight delay.**_

_**Again, if you find grammatical or spelling errors, please don't hesitate to let me know.**_


	12. Chapter 12

Charel was figuring out the fingering to Keslo's tune when Fulsa approached Reelon. The great fans churned in the background, a soft but pervasive sound, as Threadfall got underway.

"Did my father speak to you about fostering Charrie?" She pitched her question in a low tone, to not alert the girl.

"He did. And I will certainly consider it, although I don't feel right without my mate being in on the conversation." Reelon explained. Fulsa nodded.

"I just wanted to add that Telgarsk really likes her, and folk he likes are often the best wherhandler candidates. Iffin' your girl is still interested after she finishes her apprenticeship, I'll gladly pen a letter of reference to the Wherqueen. "

Reelon blinked.

"That's high praise. I thank you."

"Nonsense," Fulsa grinned. "I'm always on the lookout for good wherhandler material. Your girl's got both the courage and curiosity needed."

"Oh, aye," Reelon agreed with a theatrical sigh, "those she has in plentitude."

Fulsa laughed, then yawned with an apology.

"Sorry, time for me to listen to my own advice and get some rest."

"Rest well." Reelon wished her, as she turned to make her goodbyes of Keslo and Charel.

* * *

The drovers pushed out as soon as the ground crews gave the all clear sign. Charel filled her lungs with the sweet, late summer air and urged the herd forward. A little less than fifty miles lay between the main Hold and the Weyr, with the Threadshelter less than twenty miles away. It was a lot of ground to cover, but doable before nightfall, particularly after the enforced idleness of the morning. The herd was skittish, to be expected with the stink of firestone still in places. Briefly Charel turned back to look at the rapidly dwindling watchwher enclosure.

"Rest well," she murmured then turned her attention back to that task at hand.

* * *

"Tithe's been spotted." Tress reported to Jurille, who was helping Pilana scrub Desirth.

"Good, Hatching will be any day now." Jurille grunted from her less than dignified position draped over Desirth's rump, trying to scrub clean that one hard to reach area all dragons seemed to have, directly behind where the soft membrane of the wing attached to their bodies. Smaller dragons seemed to have an easier time of keeping that area clean, but bronzes and particularly lower flying queens, had to pay close attention that small abrasive debris didn't build up in that crevasse and damage the flight membranes.

"Herdsman Niko has moved the current herd to the west pasturage, so we'll get to rendering tomorrow, if the eggs don't crack."

"Sounds good. The Weyrlings can deliver the numbweed." Jurille scrambled back to the ground. "What of the boys?" She asked, running a hand through sweat damp hair.

"The one's C'bay brought?" Tress asked. Jurille nodded.

"Fortunately, they're young enough not to remember what happened." Tress replied with a frustrated sigh. "But the blood on their clothes would indicate they were in the room when their mother was killed. Elne's got them in the nursery, with her lizard keeping watch." The green firelizard had come from a clutch of eggs given as part of the tithe, some four Turns before. The running joke in the Weyr was that the little green didn't realize that she wasn't a queen dragon, for all the maternal instinct she displayed around young of any species.

"Good idea." Pilana said, walking around the other side of Desirth, wiping her wet hands on a scrap of a towel. "Say, what's the name of the brush, the type they comb out runners with?"

"You mean a curry comb?" Tress asked.

"Yes, that would be the one. Would you ask Niko if he would mind send one up and find a way to put it on a broom handle? There has to be an easier way to reach."

_Sorry._ Desirth eyed her apologetically.

"Not your fault, sweetling. Flying below the fighting wings is dirty work." Pilana told her queen with an affectionate slap.

"Brush on a stick, why didn't I think of that?" Jurille mused as Tress wandered off to find a weyrling to run down to the herd fields.

"Because you were thinking about two motherless little boys," Pilana's face, where it had not been protected by flight helmet and goggles was streaked with ash. "And before you ask, groundcrews didn't have anything new to report."

"Other than complimenting the lack of work we gave them?" Reema asked, joining them. Like Pilana she was similarly smudged. "They sounded surprised that we fought all the way to the Weyr. You'd think they'd recognize that all the greenery along the road would be choice food for Thread."

"I don't think they realize just how vegetated the road is. Certainly no one's mentioned the moss that lines the messenger's track." Pilana replied, offering the towel to Reema.

"Or how much our beasts dislike Thread falling so close to home?" Jurille added with a faint smile.

"Desirth was a fit to be tied when B'ton called a pause in the fighting over Firestone Valley." Pilana offered with a smile.

Reema laughed. "Wilth too!"

Firestone Valley was a long narrow valley Weyrlings first took their dragons to chew real firestone. The lack of vegetation was as much due to poor growing conditions as it was to repeated blasts of dragonbreath throughout the centuries.

"We never fight Fall over that valley." Jurille addressed the gold. "The empty husks give the Weyrlings something to practice with." Desirth's eyes had gone from green to shot with streaks of yellow and orange during the conversation.

_I know. But it doesn't feel right._ Desirth grumbled in the queenriders' minds.

"I know what you mean, love. Do you finally feel clean?" The gold dipped her head, mimicking a human nod. "When then, why don't you get some food into that cavern you call a belly?" Pilana teased, thumping her dragon's side.

_I will if you will._ Desirth snorted, showering the women with droplets of water as she leapt skyward.

"Think she's telling me I need a bath?" Pilana asked cheerfully, shaking the water from her hair.

"If she's not, I am. You two look like you've been eating soot cakes." Jurille remarked.

* * *

Old Larst both barred the door and set watch, Charel noticed and quietly asked her father about that.

"You know that oversized throwing knife Telgar lent you?" He responded. Charel nodded.

"There's been attack on tithe trains recently. Hence the knife."

"Who would attack tithe trains?" Charel asked, appalled that it could happen in the shadow of the Weyr.

"Holdless mostly. So keep a sharp eye until we're in the Tunnel, alright pup?"

"Yes Pa." Charel slept fitfully that night, and in the morning tried to compensate with a double dose of _klah_. She only recognized the mistake in that action when her need to use the privy struck shortly after Star jostled her in the saddle.

"Keslo!" She called guiding her runner over to him. "I'm going up ahead. Privy."

"As is necessary." Keslo replied, nodding. This was normal protocol for the tithe train. Charel nudged Star ahead and up the trail at a trot, wincing a little as her need was punctuated by the small runner's gait. She finally lost sight of the herd around a sharp bend, and with a grateful sigh dismounted, hurrying into some bushes to relieve herself.

Returning to Star, she started to remount when she noticed green slowly wheeling eyes staring back at her. Her breath caught in her throat as a tiny queen stared at her, then vanished. Giving herself a shake she remounted, then, feeling uneasy, kicked Star into a canter.

Turning the sharp corner in the trail she saw the herd in disarray, the drovers with their swords drawn and her father crossing swords with a grizzled man on the back of a shaggy black runner. Shrieking like a bloodied green she kicked Star forward, her borrowed blade closing the distance and burying to the hilt in the fleshy portion of the Holdless's thigh. Another rustler stepped between her and the herd, and thrust a spear at her. Screaming defiance at him she grabbed the spear and held it away from her runner, kicking the Holdless in the head. He and the spear dropped.

Old Larst bellowed orders over the melee and the drovers regrouped, finally driving the Holdless back. When Tuller and Branth tried to pursue them up a slot canyon, they almost got skewered for their efforts by a barrage of arrows.

"Forget them, round up the herd!" Old Larst shouted, recalling the drovers.

Charel hurried over to her father, biting her lip in worry.

"Pa! Are you okay?" She cried, seeing blood on his tunic.

"T'ain't mine, Charrie, don't worry." Reelon explained, cleaning his sword on a pant leg before sheathing it.

"CHAREL!" Father and daughter jumped as Old Larst trotted up. "What did I tell you about running into rustlers?!" He glowered at her.

"N-no heroics, sir." Charel cringed under his glare.

"Then what in the name of sharding crackdust did you think you were doing charging in like that?" He demanded, his runner practically prancing under him with nervousness.

"Protecting my father! And the herd!" She blazed back, livid at the accusation that she was _playing_ at heroics. "You wouldn't be yelling at me iffin' I was a boy!" She added, fed up with the double standard.

"Wrong lass, I'd yell at any twelve Turn old who did something so foolish." He retorted.

"Thirteen." Charel said stiffly. "I turned thirteen two days ago." She turned Star away, and hurried to help the other drovers reunite the herd. Reelon sighed.

"Any of that blood yours, Journeyman?" Old Larst asked, his tone a shade kinder.

"No sir. Most of it came from the Holdless fool on the black runner." Old Larst grunted and turned his runner back on the track.

* * *

B'ton stood at the edge of the Hatching Sands and marveled as Graesth arranged her eggs, spacing them apart in equal intervals.

"Have you ever asked her why she does that?" He asked Jurille, who was stealing a moment away from the greeting of candidates as they arrived, most on the backs of dragons that didn't look to Telgar.

"I did once. She told me that if the candidates wanted to be riders to her young, they needed to work for it." Jurille explained, chuckling at B'ton's puzzled look.

"In that case I am ever so grateful Wubath hatched from Diligeth's last clutch." He remarked as the thirty-six eggs were positioned and repositioned until they were exactly the same distance apart.

"Has anyone ever measured the distance?" He asked curiously. Jurille laughed.

"Three paces, the exact length of her forelimbs. What's the wager at?"

B'ton grinned like a naughty weyrling.

"Odds are on there being eighteen greens, nine blues, six browns and at least three bronzes."

Jurille snorted. "Conservative odds."

"Oh?" B'ton raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying I've seen bronzes hatch from small eggs." She ribbed him, causing him to laugh, remembering that Wubath's egg had been dismissed as a green's.

"Point taken. But an egg almost as large as a queen's, surely that one is a bronze." He pointed to the largest egg on the Sands.

"Freeth's browns tend to be on the big side, why not this lot? Wubath sired those browns." Jurille countered.

"If that's a brown egg, I'll help Weyrlings bag firestone for the next Fall." B'ton said, grinning at her.

"And if it's a bronze, I'll preform the Ballad of the Randy Rider and the Lusty Ladyholder at dinner." Jurille stuck her hand out for him to shake.

"You know that one?" B'ton wasn't sure if he was horrified or excited by that knowledge.

"Know it? I can play that on three different instruments!"

* * *

The Tunnel leading to the Weyr was welcome sight, and Reelon joined the other drovers in a happy shout, startling the herd into entering without baulking. The safety of the Weyr all but assured, Old Larst had Thallon and Branth ride ahead, to alert the Weyr to their arrival and the earlier attack.

Charel leaned back in her saddle, stretching her hands over her head, trying to work out the kink in the small of her back.

"Pa," she asked after a long moment, reflecting on something that had been bothering for a couple days, "Can one be herdcraftsman and a wherhandler?"

Reelon smiled at his daughter, a flash of white in the dimly lit gloom of the Tunnel.

"I don't see why not, the wherqueen is a journeyman herdhealer."

"Really?" Charel cheered up. "Great!" She whistled a few measures of Keslo's tune, as they moved through the long winding Tunnel, the darkness broken by the faint light of a glowing fungus, relative to the better known glows.

"How come the floor is so smooth, but the walls are so rugged?" Charel asked, noticing the knobby walls.

"The Tunnel's an old lava tube." Old Larst said, riding up alongside of her. "But the first dragonriders had masons smooth out the floor." He paused. "Lass, I owe you an apology. You did right, coming to your father's aid like that." He added gruffly.

"That's alright, sir. I shouldn't have tossed my knife like that." Charel replied humbly, clearly perturbed by the loss of the blade.

"No, lass, you shouldn't have, but it takes real courage to charge back in to a fight like that, even with a weapon. Your father tells me he will teach you swordplay this winter. Practice well, I'd like to share the trail with you again." He nodded at them, and nudged his runner forward.

"Y-yes sir." Charel felt her face grow hot, and was very glad it was too dark for anyone to see her blush.

* * *

"Tithe herd was attacked." Tress told Urlyra, having returned from setting one of the more clever fingered women from the Lower Caverns to the task of attaching several curry combs to broom handles of differing lengths.

"Where at?" Urlyra asked, looking up from the Store Records. While Jurille rotated all of the tasks of the queenriders, each Weyrwoman had a preferred task. Urlyra's was accounting.

"Just north of the Threadshelter between here and the Main Hold. One of the drovers saw a gold fire lizard too."

"Hmm." Urlyra tapped the record with her pencil. "That explains how they've been avoiding us. Any injuries?"

"Among the drovers, no, although they lost three head of cattle to the Holdless. One drover claims that the leader of the Holdless got six finger lengths of Telgar steel in his side for his troubles." Tress replied.

"Good. Let that serve as a warning to them then." Urlyra grumbled, then her eyes got that distant look riders got when speaking to their dragons. "Yes... Tress, please see that the drovers are well accommodated and invited to the Hatching." Urlyra said, closing the Record and standing.

"Ah, and where might you be?" Tress asked, confused as usually the Werywoman would have met with the drovers to take their own account of the attack.

"I think Freeth needs to stretch her wings before the festivities," she replied.

"Oh. Happy hunting." Tress bade her.

* * *

Herdsman Niko closed the gate behind the herd, and the drovers followed his weyrling assistant to the stable, dismounting and tending to their runners. Star, Charel's runner, had been shivering and sweating, as had all the runners, which Charel attributed to the proximity of the dragons, as the runner settled down and ate once she started combing it out. After, the Headwoman, a surprisingly young but affable woman named Tress met them and extended the Weyr's hospitality to them.

Already pleased at the prospect of a warm bath and a real bed, Charel was doubly delighted when Tress told them of the impending Hatching.

Gathering her kit, she hared off after the weyrling that showed her to the thermal baths.

"Each of the weyrs have a private bath," Lybae, the weyrling girl, explained to her, "but down here, it was easier to make three really big pools." She lead Charel past a dizzying array of stairs and chambers, most separated from the main hallway by a simple fur. So different was that from the Hold with all its wooden doors that Charel remarked on it.

"That's because we respect each other's privacy here." Lybae said with a knowing grin. "That's not to say we don't know what's going on - living with dragons means having no secrets."

The winding hall opened up into a much wider tunnel, another lava tube, the walls and ceiling thick with the same glowing fungus that lined the Tunnel. Charel gasped, for the tiled pool was easily the length of two gold dragons, put snout to tail.

"This is a bath?" She asked incredulously, dipping her fingers experimentally into the faintly steaming water. A slight current swirled about her fingers.

Lybae laughed. "Yeah. It's nice actually, because at the end of the day when we've been boiling numbweed or leathers, or scrubbing up after a feast all the women in the Lower Caverns come down here, or the Family Pool, and chat and bathe together. Sometimes they even bring chilled juices." She looked around the empty, echoing room. "Actually, it's kinda rare to find it so empty." She shrugged and sat down on one of the stone benches. "Anyway, take your time. None of the dragons are humming yet, so you're in no hurry."

"Thanks!" Charel was already kicking off her dusty boots.

* * *

Freeth rumbled with pleasure, and Urlyra chuckled in response. The gold flew leisurely, catching thermals and gliding effortlessly over the winding pass to the main Hold. Urlyra leaned back letting the riding straps hold her upright, taking joy in this most basic of draconic principles, _dragons fly_. Freeth wheeled, spooking a flock of wherries, that took to the sky in a panic, their harsh calls heard only faintly over Freeth's laughter in Urlyra's head. The same trip that took the drovers most of a day to travel Freeth accomplished under an hour, at a leisurely pace.

_They are well hidden, _Freeth announced suddenly, wheeling so Urlyra could see the hanging valley below them, _but the injured man's pain is great._

_Six fingerlengths of steel will do that. _Urlyra concurred._ Do they know we're here?_

_The little queen does. She is thinking of _between_ to confuse me._ Freeth snorted scornfully.

_Let her think she has succeeded. _Urlyra suggested. _Do you think you would recognize her mind if you touched it again?_

_Certainly._ Freeth suffered no doubts.

_Could you share that with the watchwher?_

_Yes, Telgarsk would understand. _Freeth turned ever so slightly bringing the Hold into view. _But he and Namusk are asleep right now._

_Don't wake them just yet, I should like to speak to Fulmar first._

Wordlessly Freeth acknowledged, and landed gracefully in the hold courtyard. Lady Holder Minket greeted her on the steps leading to the Hold.

"Welcome and welmet, but is it not early yet?" She smiled at the younger queenrider. Urlyra smiled politely in response, then realized that the Lady Holder thought she was there to convey her and her brood to the Hatching.

_Graesth says since we are not needed at the Weyr we might as well bring the Holders._ Freeth flicked her tail in annoyance.

_We all have to take a turn at the duty, love._ Urlyra turn on the charm, and fell back on the protocol of her youth.

"Lady Minket, I hope I have not distressed you with my early arrival." She said smoothly. "You are correct, that today is the date of the Hatching, but I arrived early to speak with the Watch Captain. I will, of course, be delighted to convey you and your family when the dragons announce it is time."

Lady Minket's faint furrowing of her brow relaxed. "This way then, Captain Fulmar is on the practice field." Minket led Urlyra back out to the courtyard, and up to the fireheights stairs to a small, hard packed area, on the clifftop that was the roof of the Hold, overlooking the entire valley.

A group of men were practicing their grappling skills as when the women arrived. Fulmar called for a break in the practice and welcomed them.

Another round of endless pleasantries, then Minket finally left, doubtlessly to outfit her young in their Gather finest. Not that clothes made a wit of difference to the hatchlings. Not that that stopped the Lady Holder from packing off her young to each hatching with the not so secret hope that one of them would be selected from the stands and Impress. Urlyra snorted softly. It would serve the woman right if all her sons Impressed greens. Fulmar coughed, covering his slight laugh at Urlyra's look of distaste as Minket mentioned the Hatching for a third time in her leave taking. Her dragonrider aspirations for her children were well known in the Hold.

"She means well, Weyrwoman." He told her softly.

"Doesn't make it any less annoying, uncle." Urlyra retorted with a mellow smile. "Were you aware that the tithe herd was attacked?"

"No. Any injuries?" Fulmar shook his head.

"Not among the drovers. One of the Holdless took a knife to the side."

Fulmar raised an eyebrow. "A knife?"

"I'm guessing it was a knife, six fingerlengths seems a bit short for a sword." Urlyra explained.

"It is." Fulmar agreed noncommittally. "Did Old Larst get a good look at the Holdless?"

"I haven't interviewed them yet." Urlyra admitted as a waterskin was passed around to the men. "Freeth and I left when we heard there was a gold fire lizard sighted."

"Ah, that explains it then." Fulmar rubbed his chin. "Were you able to confirm the presence of this gold?"

"Confirmed and identified." Urlyra gave him a predatory smile. "Freeth says she can show Telgarsk how to identify the gold. And I have a pretty good idea of where the Holdless are camped out at."

"Do you now?" Fulmar looked intrigued and dismissed his men, telling them to reconvene before supper. "Please, show me, if you have the time."

"Eggs aren't cracking yet." Urlyra said with a droll smile, following him back to his office.

* * *

**_If you find any grammatical or spelling issues, please, please, please tell me._**


	13. Chapter 13

Lybae staid and chatted with Charel as she bathed, answering her seemingly endless questions about life in the Weyr. For her part, Lybae had her own questions about life outside the Weyr.

"Technically both of my parents are Hall," Charel explained, lingering for a moment in the warm water. "Ma's got her journeyman Healer knot, she wears it sometimes at Gathers when the Hold healer wants extra bodies on hand. It's just 'cause neither Ma nor Pa have any 'prentices right now that we're considered a cot hold and not a cot hall." She stood and took the towel Lybae offered her. "Ma sometimes says she wishes she had more hands around to help her, but then Pa says that's why they had us younglings." Lybae chuckled at Charel's good natured grimace. "What about your folks?" She asked the weyrling.

"Weeell... my birth mother's a queenrider-" Lybae paused seeing Charel open her mouth.

"Really? Does she ever have you help tend her dragon?" Charel asked, Lybae blinked then laughed.

"When Freeth wants tending, all the weyrlings help! A queen's a lot of dragon to clean." She giggled as Charel dressed in her last clean change of clothes. "I thought you were gonna ask me if I was gonna be a queenrider."

"That's a silly thing to ask. I thought the dragons choose." Charel said, pulling a comb through her wet, chin length hair.

"They do! That's the thing, some folk just expect that I'm gonna Impress just because my father's Weyrleader and my mother's a queenrider." Lybae said a little crossly.

"Well, I for one think you're crazy lucky to live around dragons." Charel said honestly, wincing as the comb caught on a tangle. "I mean, there's what, one queen for every hundred dragons, right? Most people would think they were incredibly lucky just to get Searched, but to get Searched for a queen, that'd be like getting struck by lightning twice in the same hour. And then to Impress the queen? That's be like getting hit by lighting a third time." Charel shook her head at the odds. "You have a better chance if you played cards against a Bitran."

Lybae stared at her for a moment, a slow smile dawning on her face. "That's the best description ever! I'm gonna use that the next time someone asks. Thanks!" Charel smiled and sat down to pull on her boots.

"You're welcome. Say, you think there's still time for me to polish my boots? I can't help not having my Gather clothes, but I could at least look presentable."

"Yeah, sure, you need polish too? I'll show you where Niko keeps it." Lybae lead her back to the entrance, then around the quarantine field to the shelter built out from the wall of the mountain. Inside was the tact room, and a number of barrels of leather oil and bit polish.

"Here, will bootblack do?" Lybae passed her a smallish tin. "What about a rag? Do you need a buffing brush?"

"Yes please." Charel's polish kit had been a casualty of the stampede.

"Great! We can sit under here." She led Charel to under the sugarfruit tree, then sighed as a green fire lizard appeared and landed on a branch, chirping down at her. "Okay, tell Nene I'm on my way. " The little green flit away. "I'm sorry, they need all us weyrlings to help in the kitchen. I'll come right back and get you if Hatching starts, okay?"

"That's fine, but shouldn't I be helping?" Charel asked, perfectly willing to help.

"No! Today you're a guest! Enjoy it, after all, you're part of the reason we're eating fresh meat tonight!" Lybae waved at her, racing back to the entrance in the side of the mountain.

Charel shrugged and bent to apply herself to polishing her boots, whistling Keslo's tune.

She was finishing the second boot and about to set it aside in the sunlight when a shadow fell on her. Startled, she looked up and saw Branth standing over her. The young drover smiled at her in a manner closer to a leer.

"Polishing your boots for the Hatching?" He asked, and belatedly Charel realized that she was backed into a corner, between the tree and the side of the mountain. When she didn't answer he continued. "You know you're awfully pretty, why do you always keep to yourself?"

"I-I don't always keep to myself." Charel said, putting the bootblack aside nervously. She'd have to leave her boots behind, but anything was better than letting him get any closer to her.

"No, that's right, you like to hang around with Keslo. What's that one legged wherlover got that I don't?" Branth demanded, his smile fading.

"He doesn't scare me, for one." Charel said, gathering her feet under her.

"Scare you? I don't want to scare – let me show you how good I can make you feel." He grabbed at her as she tried to leap past him, catching her by the shoulder, throwing her to the ground. Stunned, Charel let out a garbled shout as he started pulling her pants off.

For one dreadful moment Charel felt the heavy weight of him on her, his hard fingers poking in places they didn't belong, then the air was filled with the roar of an angry dragon. Charel's vision was filled with the visage of a green dragon as it literally backhanded Branth off of her. Sobbing, she clutched to the green's neck as the dragon leapt up and glided over to one of the feeding pastures. There a young man with a rider's tan ran to meet them.

_Don't worry, little drover. This man is my rider. He is a_ good _man. _A voice, soft as a breeze filled Charel's head. Unable to speak, Charel nodded, but clung fiercely to the dragon. _Please little drover, if you don't let go I cannot catch the bad man._

"I can't, I can't," Charel trembled so badly she couldn't stand. "Dragons are suppose to protect, I can't let you kill him," she whispered, sobbing.

"She won't kill him, but I might." The young man muttered, putting his arms around her, offering comfort.

_Go with the man, little drover. He is good, I love him._ The green whispered in her mind again, but this time the tone was calmer, and that calm communicated itself to Charel. _Go with him, so I may stop the bad man. I will not kill him, little drover. I am a dragon. We do not kill people._ Finally reassured by the draconic promise, Charel let go. The green hopped up into the air, all wind and sound, then flew out of her sight.

"Are you alright?" The greenrider asked, easing her to the ground and holding her as her shuddering eased.

"I-I think so." Charel whispered, clinging to him the same way she clung to his dragon. She could hear others approaching, concerned voices, but confused and frightened she turned her face into his chest.

"It's okay, it's not your fault." He reassured her, just holding her. ''What's your name, lass?"

"Ch-Charrie." She whimpered, then looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "A-and you can't be much older than me." She sniffed, and unlatched one hand in order to wipe her eyes. The greenrider laughed, one of those forced laughs with very little humor behind it.

"True. I'm C'bay. Mirrth is my green." He said helping her sit up. Charel felt the grass under her and realized she wasn't wearing her trous. Her tunic was long enough to cover her modesty, but she looked around, tears threatening again, for her pants.

"Mirrth is the biggest, bestest, bravest green in all of Pern," she avowed, new tears trickling free. "Please, has anyone seen my trous?"

"What are you all standing around for?" A familiar voice demanded and Tress pushed through the crowd. "By the First Egg, have you no sense? Back up! Let the girl breath!" Tress knelt down next to her. "Are you alright, drover?" She asked, concern coloring her tone. Charel nodded, unable to speak, keenly aware that the Headwoman should not be there, but inside, helping get ready for the Hatching festivities.

"Here." Someone shoved Charel's pants and boots at Tress, who took them, then ordered everyone away. C'bay made to leave until Charel whimpered for him to stay.

"At least turn around, C'bay." Tress said with an exasperated sigh, helping Charel stand. C'bay did, and Charel pulled her pants and boots on, sniffing, trying valiantly to get her emotions under control.

"Did you see what happened?" Tress asked C'bay, who shook his head. "Sorry, Mirrth did, not I." C'bay said angrily, then turned when Charel touched his elbow. "I'm so sorry Charrie. He walked by me not ten minutes ago. I'd have popped him in the nose if I'd known-" He choked off what he was going to say when she hugged him tightly around the middle.

"Dragonmen protect. Dragons protect." She whispered, holding him bone crushingly tight. C'bay looked helplessly at Tress who merely shook her head.

* * *

What was the old Igen saying? B'ton asked himself, 'it never rains but that it pours'? His first Hatching as Weyrleader was getting off to an inauspicious start. Mirrth had broadcast the attack on the drover girl almost instantly, forcing B'ton to leave the more than capable queenriders to greet the candidates while he headed up the manhunt for the would be rapist. He was peripherally aware of Zandur and Valtree going to Tress's quarters as he tried to muddle through the sea of volunteers. The dragonriders were rightfully irate that anyone who attack an innocent in their own home, and repeatedly B'ton had to bark out the 'no kill' order.

Three wings went out, and those riders not chosen to search were remanded to the task of collecting guests.

_Freeth says Urlyra wants you to take a deep breath and count to thirteen._ Wubath interrupted his train of thought.

_Why thirteen?_ B'ton asked, taking that deep breath before he snapped at another rider. There was a slight pause as he counted to thirteen.

_Because in your frame of mind you could use the extra three seconds. _Freeth's voice, so similar to Urlyra's that B'ton actually turned to see if she was standing behind him, murmured in his mind.

_Wubath, please tell 'Lyra I said thank you._

* * *

**_Here's a little bonus chapter. I have to go out of town for about a week and a half, I don't know if I'll have wifi where I'm heading. Sorry for the long stretch. Also, please if you see any grammar or spelling errors, let me know._**

**_Glossary comment: I use 'Weyrling' for the human of a dragonpair that hasn't graduated to full fighting strength. I use 'weyrling' for any child living in the Weyr, as that was how I was introduced to it in Dragonquest. I do not like the term 'weyrbrat' mostly because I honestly don't recall seeing it in Anne's earliest works, which (mostly) my guide for language use on Pern._**


	14. Chapter 14

Urlyra had been enjoying a cup of _klah_ with Fulmar when Freeth relayed news of the attack. Putting down her mug before she dropped it, she repeated the news to her uncle, who responded with more than his typical phlegmatic response.

"The drover girl? Charrie? Is she alright?" He asked with a concerned look.

"Freeth says yes, they're searching for the attacker now- Charrie?" She tilted her head. "You know her?"

"I offered to foster her." Fulmar explained, causing Urlyra to blanch.

"How old is this girl if you're fostering her?" She demanded.

"Thirteen summers. She's the daugh-" A commotion in the hallway interrupted him as Fulsa and Namul, still in their bedclothes, burst into the room.

"Is she alright?" "Who did this?" They asked at the same time.

"Peace." Fulmar's stern tone silenced both wherhandlers. "the Weyrwoman was just informing me of the sistuation." Namul had the decency to look abashed, but Fulsa merely nodded to Urlyra.

"Cousin," she said curtly. Urlyra nodded, privately bemused to see that the incorrigable youth that was her cousin had grown into a formidable young woman.

"According to the dragons your Charrie is safe and unharmed." Urlyra neglected to add that the dragons also reported that the poor girl had had the scare of her life. "How did you hear of the attack?"

"Telgarsk and Namusk," Fulsa tilted her head in the direction of the courtyard, "woke us out of a sound sleep, demanding we take them to the Weyr." She stared accusingly at Urlyra.

_Freeth-_

_I am already speaking with them. __They are unhappy. They like the girl._

_Freeth, how is the Weyrlearder?_ Urlyra asked suddenly, worried that if the watchwhers were upset, so might he be.

_He is livid, too many want to kill. _

_Tell him to count to thirteen. _Urlyra stared steadily back at Fulsa

_"_Freeth is reassuring them right now. Telgarsk _likes_ the girl?"

Fulsa stiffened.

"Don't poach!" She barked, causing Namul and Fulmar to wince.

"Backwing, Flit." Urlyra replied mildly, swallowing her smile at having gotten a rise out of her. "There's no queen egg on the Sands." Fulsa relaxed, crossing her arms and frowning. Really, it was a shame that fighting colors didn't Impress women, Urlyra thought, Fulsa would have made an excellent Wingleader.

_He wants to know why thriteen._ Freeth reported.

_In his current state of mind he needs the three extra seconds._

"Excuse me," Namul spoke up timidly, "do we know who attacked her?"

"Another drover," Urlyra paused,"named Branth." She gave the wherhandlers a glance. "Does that name mean anything to you?" Both Wherhandlers shook their heads, but Fulmar nodded.

"He was a problem at a Gather, two Turns back. Tried to seduce a holder girl," he put a slight emphasis on 'girl', "rumor has it that he likes them young. But, the holder didn't want to pursue charges." He shrugged helplessly.

_Wubath says that B'ton thanks you._ Freeth added. Urlyra acknowledged the gratitude with a burst of affection.

"You mean her father didn't," Fulsa scowled.

"Her uncle," Fulmar corrected her, "and no, he didn't." Fulmar glanced at Urlyra, who merely raised an eyebrow. "He was afraid he wouldn't be able to make a good match for his niece if word of a trial got out." Fulmar shook his head. "I warned Branth off then, but I'm afraid I didn't recognize him the other day when they arrived." Fulmar sighed. "Old Larst is usually such a good judge of character."

"They had a herd of over 200, he might not have had much of a choice if he included a known trouble maker and a child of thirteen Turns." Urlyra noted.

"Don't knock the thirteen Turn old, she's as sharp as they come!" Fulsa bristled. Urlyra grinned that time, as Namul soothed his mate.

"My apologies, cousin, that was unkind of me." She glanced out the window. "Would you like to come to the Hatching and check up on Charrie yourselves? The dragons still aren't humming."

Fulsa nodded. "Yes, please." Namul also nodded.

Urlyra bade them a temporary farewell as the wherhandlers returned to their rooms to change.

Glancing at her uncle, she asked in a serious tone, "Does Telgarsk liking the girl have anything to do with your offer to foster?"

"That's certainly part of it." Fulmar admitted. "Fulsa says she's never seen Telgarsk this interested in a candidate before." He shrugged and offered to top off her mug.

"Is he as interested in her as he was of young Senli?" She queried. Fulmar let out a dry laugh.

"More. He let her ride him in an excerise. How is young S'nli and Duranth these days?" He asked pointedly. Urlyra flashed him a smile.

"He and his brown are doing quite well, they're training to be Wingseconds to D'ael."

Fulmar nodded. "I would warn you off of being overly interested in the girl in Fulsa's presence. She's convinced Charrie will Impress, and if she has her way, it'll be a bronze wher."

Urlyra raised an eyebrow. "Not a queenwher?" She teased.

"The current queen is only 7 Turns old, niece, and this close to the end of the Pass..." he shrugged again.

"Understood." Urlyra finished her drink. "And thank you, I'll mind my manners around Fulsa." She winked.

"Just make sure Fulsa doesn't Impress while she's there, or you'll never be rid of her." Fulmar deadpanned at her.

* * *

Tress very kindly but firmly insisted that the Weyrhealer check Charel for injuries. Charel, too shaken up to object, held tightly to the Headwoman's hand as Zandur, with a gentleness rarely displayed, inspected the bruises on his thighs.

"The good news is that Mirrth interrupted before he managed to rape her," Valtree explained to an agonized Reelon.

"And the bad?" Reelon was nothing if not a realist.

"She's had the fright of her life," Valtree said regretfully, "many assault victims suffer night terrors and panic attacks for the rest of their lives. That's not to say-" she added in a hurry, seeing the panic set in, "that she won't recover in time, you just need to be aware that these things might happen."

"What my colleague is rather inelegantly saying is that young Charrie might act out," Zandur sniffed, joining them. "If she does, don't punish her, but hold her close, and remind her that you love her and are there for her. It's the only healing anyone can offer that will work."

Valtree ignored the slight from long practice.

"She'll be okay?" Reelon begged the Weyrhealer.

"Your girl asked me all sorts of questions about dragonhealing." Zandur noted dryly. "Curiosity is the surest sign of recovery in children" Reelon smiled weakly, privately reassured, and Zandur drew the skin aside so tha he might enter.

Charel gave a soft cry and released her hold on Tress, hugging her father wordlessly. For his part Reelon just held her, petting her head, and making soothing noises. Eventually Charel pulled away and asked the one question he dreaded.

"Why?" Her eyes shimmered with unspilled tears.

"I don't know why, pup." He admitted. "I don't know why anyone would want to hurt anyone that way."

"H-he said he wanted to make me feel good. How is hurting me going to make me feel good?" She whispered. Reelon flinched, and took a deep breath, quelling his sudden burst of fury.

"Some people just aren't right in the head, pup." He murmured, helplessly.

* * *

Freeth met Urlyra and the wherhandlers on the fireheights. The queenrider had left a note for Minket apologizing for the abrupt departure, and promising to return in time and ferry them to the Hatching. Freeth rumbled irritably, causing both wherhandlers to pause, but Urlyra relieved them of their anxiety by telling them of the earlier meeting with Minket.

"She'll never give up hoping, cousin, not since the two of you have been Searched." Fulsa replied, as Namul bowed to the gold. Freeth dipped her head in response, visibly mollified.

"Don't I know it." Urlyra sighed. "She's even convinced herself that she let me have Freeth, since she was already well appointed."

Both Fulsa and Freeth snorted at the same time. Namul bit his lip to keep from laughing as he climbed onto Freeth's back"

"Well appointed my wherry-hided backside. Lord Kestle only married her for 'her breeding hips'." Fulsa mimiced the old Lord's voice with an eerie percision. Urlyra choked back a laugh of her own as Fulsa seated herself behind Namul.

"Don't let him or the harper _ever_ hear you say that." She grinned up at her and vaulted up into her spot in front of the wherhandlers. Flying straps in place she gave Freeth the signal to go and the pale gold leapt skyward, wings pumping before transfering _between._

* * *

**_Got back early! _**

**_Please if you see any grammar or spelling errors, let me know._**

**_Glossary comment: I use 'Weyrling' for the human of a dragonpair that hasn't graduated to full fighting strength. I use 'weyrling' for any child living in the Weyr, as that was how I was introduced to it in Dragonquest. I do not like the term 'weyrbrat' mostly because I honestly don't recall seeing it in Anne's earliest works, which (mostly) my guide for language use on Pern._**


	15. Chapter 15

Word of the attack had spread quick through the Weyr, so when Charel and Reelon emerged from the Headwoman's quarters all of the drovers were there, a show of solidarity for the young woman they had come to think of as one of their own. Nor was the gesture lost on her, as Charel felt new tears, grateful tears, prick at her eyes.

"Good." Tress breathed a sigh of relief, and B'ton glanced at her.

"Good?" He asked quietly.

"Good, they don't blame her." She murmured back. "Some folk would acutally blame her, suggesting that somehow she wanted it." She gave him a sympathetic look at his own horrified response.

"She's little more than a child. How could anyone-?" He started to protest.

"How could anyone see a child as a bedmate?" Tress countered, then turned as Urlyra strode in with two holders in tow. The young woman bore a strong resemblence to the goldrider, and she strode up to the crowd, then hovered uncertainly at the edge, as the drovers suddenly bunched up, protectively.

"Fulsa!" Charel cried, and worked her way free, "W-why are you here?" She asked as Fulsa enveloped her in a hug.

"Telly told us something had happened, pet. Are you okay?" Fulsa said soothingly.

Charel sniffed, trying very hard not to cry.

"I'm okay," she said with some difficulty, "I was saved by Mirrth. She's a green dragon. Please tell Telgarsk not to worry."

"Oh sweetling," Fulsa hugged her again and sent Telgarsk a mental 'she's alright'. Telgarsk replied with a faint burst of affection. Charel stiffened and looked up at the wherhandler with wondering eyes and a tear streaked face.

"W-was that Telgarsk, just now?" She asked, not entirely believing. Fulsa nodded, smiling reassuringly.

_Freeth, would you ask Finth and Loucaith to give the drover girl a quick look over?_ Urlyra asked. In the pause while her gold bespoke the two blues she made eye contact with B'ton and tilted her head in the dirction of the Bowl. He nodded slightly, recognizing her subtle request for a moment fo his time.

_They would be delighted to. They are very curious about a girl that Telgarsk finds so interesting._ Freeth replied. Urlyra surpressed a smile as she walked with B'ton up the glow lined tunnel to the Bowl. Fulsa might decry her actions as poaching, but the drover girl was young enough to stand for a queen egg before her thirtith Turn.

"You wished to speak to me?" B'ton asked curiously of his one time weyrmate. He still cared deeply for her, but in the days since he became Weyrleader he had come to appreciate her keen political intellect. And he was dead grateful for her support.

"How goes the manhunt?" She asked as they lingered in the entrance to the Bowl. B'ton grimanced, running a hand through his hair.

"Badly." He admitted. "Searchers followed him all the way down into one of those heavily forested box canyons on the east side, then he disappeared as thoroughly as if he went _between_. "

"Any chance that means he broke his neck in a fall?" Urlyra asked hopefully.

"We can only wish." B'ton flashed her an unpleasant smile. "If we don't find him by nightfall Valtree's going to have that artistic apprentice of hers do up a sketch of him and pass it around to all the Halls and Holds."

"Good. Perhaps that will keep him out of Tress's way as well." Urlyra nodded.

"Oh? Has he been bothering her?" B'ton queried, as this was news to him.

"He's been driving her crazy, always absconding with the tall stool to sit in the shadows and sketch Graesth. Tress had that stool comissioned for Nene, so she wouldn't stand over long on her bad knee." The queenrider explained airily.

"Wait, he's been sketching Graesth on the sly?" B'ton asked with a slow smile. "He doesn't have secret aspirations to Impress does he?"

"Have you ever known a harper that didn't?" Urlyra grinned. B'ton laughed, his low bubbling chuckle that built to a full blown laugh, that had first attracted her to him.

"Ah, I thank you, 'Lyra, I think we're just uncovered the source of Graesth's unusual broodiness," he explained as Graesth sat up on the Sands and began humming.

"Real- oh shards, I have to get Minket." Urlyra gave him a quick hug, her habitual apology whenever she had to cut a conversation short with him.

"Clear skies!" B'ton called after her as she hurried over to where Freeth landed to pick her up.

* * *

"This way, if you please," Fulsa lead the drovers and her mate up into the stands, their early arrival permitting them their choice seats in the middle of the first row. Charel, bracketed by her father and the wherhandler leaned forward, and was rewarded with the sight of thirty-six evenly spaced eggs in three rows. One egg rocked. People were streaming into the stands, dragons arriving within fingerlengths of each other, some hovering with fast wingstrokes, as other dragons, already landed, hurried to unload their passengers. A gold trumpeted, sounding almost cross, and the other colors moved to one side as she landed, a well dressed woman, three young men in their teens and a man old enough to be their grandfather dismounted.

"That's Lord Kestle." Reelon said softly to Charel, who nodded.

"And my Lady Minket. Heh, she neglected to bring the girls. I told Shebet she wouldn't risk them Impressing greens." Fulsa remarked.

"Green dragons will Impress women?" Charel asked, glancing at her.

Fulsa leaned back against the stone riser and grinned at Charel. "That's what the earliest Records say, the first greenriders were all women."

"And there's the Ballad of Xhinna," Namul added, sitting on the other side of Fulsa. A dragonrider sitting directly behind them snorted and muttered. "The Ballad of Xhinna is full of lies." Realizing he spoke aloud he leaned forward, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen in." He was an older rider, with grey hair and an old scar from Thread lining the side of his face. Fulsa glanced back at him, then did a double take.

"L'stur! Good to see you. How's Joith?" She asked the former Weyrleader, who looked at her with a slow smile.

"He's well, thank you, wher mistress. How are Telgarsk and Namusk?" He asked easy in conversation while the drovers shifted a little uncomfortably in such august company. Fulsa let out a peal of laughter.

"Up to their old tricks, as usual. What's the betting for this hatching?"

"Ah," L'stur grinned at her, "the bookie's going with conservative odds. You care to make a wager?"

"Nooooo, bronzerider, wher eggs are my stock in trade, not dragon's. Your smooth shells are too hard to read," she bantered back, then they all fell silent as the candidates dressed in white filed out onto the Sands and formed a loose semi circle around the eggs.

"So many candidates..." Charel murmured, counting fifty young men, ranging from just out of adolescence to well in their twenties. The humming intenstified and everyone in the stands leaned forward in anticipation.

First one, then three then most of the eggs where rocking, some harder than others, some merely wobbling. Charel held her breath as the largest egg rocked so hard it fell on its side before splitting right down the middle and _two_ greens wobbled out, shaking their heads as they righted themselves, then looking around creeling piteously. Charel blinked as many in the stands gasped, then shrugged a little to herself. Twins were certainly common enough with her father's woolly ovines, and even humans birthed twins, as her own sisters were a testament to, so she supposed dragon twins _could _be hatched from the same egg. Although, weren't clutchmates technically twins of a sort? She wondered as the greens moved in the direction of the candidates. Two candidates, related if the strong resemblance to one another and clasped hands indicated anything, both knelt and smiled incredulously as they hugged the little dragonets to them. Around them a sigh went up from the dragonriders in the crowd, and Charel tore her eyes away from the violently rocking eggs long enough to look back at L'stur. His face was damp, his expression soft, she noticed, returning her attention to the eggs. Two more eggs hatched, also greens, then four eggs hatched at once, two blues, a green and a bronze. Charel's breath caught a little as the bronze turned to the smallest lad on the black Sands. Another candidate, a tall youth with a shock of messy black hair, clapped the lad on the shoulder, pushing him towards the little bronze with a laugh. Kneeling the boy's face lit up with such joy that Charel felt a twinge of jealousy. An arm settled over her shoulders and startled, Charel looked at her father, his eyes moist with barely suppressed tears.

"You can't possibly know, until you hold your own child for the first time, Charrie, but you were my joy the morning you were born." He said softly, barely heard over the cheering of a group of weavers as their favorite Impressed. Blushing profusely, Charel leaning into her father's embrace as another two greens and a brown found their life-partners. Directly below them another egg rocked, it's frenzied shaking pitching it precariously to the side of the slight mound it was sitting in, so that when the little dragonet finally broke its shell it somersaulted backwards with an indignant squawk, landing on its back staring up at them with an expression of utter surprise.

The drovers burst out laughing at the comedic sight, unable to help themselves.

All except Charel.

Reelon was only dimly aware of the slight intake of breathe before Charel was over the low partition, catching herself from a neck breaking plunge, dangling by her fingertips for one split second, then dropping to the sand below, and wordlessly helping the little blue to his feet.

"Charrie, what are you-" Fulsa cried as Charel looked into the blue's rainbow eyes, then looked back up at her father, a smile stretching across her face.

"His name is Vaeth!"

* * *

Fulsa sat back in the stands as a stunned Reelon was congratulated by the his fellow drovers, biting her lip to keep from crying. Namul, sensed her distress and looked away from the remaining hatchings to hug her and whisper consolingly in her ear. "You were right, you know. This is merely vindication in another form."

Fulsa nodded begrudgingly.

Across the Sands Jurille shared a disbelieving look with B'ton. "First twins, now a girl Impressing a blue?" She murmured at him. "Do you have any more surprises for me?" She asked, weakly joking with him.

"Only one. That's the girl that was attacked." B'ton replied, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. Jurille stared at him for a moment.

_They are well matched._ Graesth informed her as the new dragonpair crossed the Sands together to join the other dragonpairs.

_But- a girl on a fighting color?_ Jurille asked.

_Do we not fight?_ Graesth replied with draconic logic._ Go, reassure the pair, the girl is worried that she has done something_ _wrong._

"Excuse me, I need to go and speak with our surprise." Jurille smiled apologetically at B'ton.

"That's alright," he replied, looking sheepish, "I've just been summoned to speak with our surprise's father." He said before moving in the opposite direction of the Weyrwoman.

_Wubath, who is with the girl's father?_

_His men, the drovers, and the wherhandlers from Telgar, and L'stur._ Wubath informed him.

"L'stur?" B'ton asked aloud, and made haste.

_He is trying to calm the father's fears. Joith says the Journeyman is conflicted. _B'ton let out a bark of laughter, startling a few remaining visitors in the stands, who nervously smiled at him until they saw his knotdevice. He nodded pleasantly at them as he passed. _Please, Wubath, ask him to stay- no, _tell_ him I need his support in this._ Pride be seared, he decided, he needed L'stur's expertise tonight.

_He says he is ever happy to assist you._ Wubath's words were like a balm, and heartened, B'ton approached the group smiling.

"I hear congratulations are in order?"

* * *

**_Please if you see any grammar or spelling errors, let me know._**

**_Glossary comment: I use 'Weyrling' for the human of a dragonpair that hasn't graduated to full fighting strength. I use 'weyrling' for any child living in the Weyr, as that was how I was introduced to it in Dragonquest. I do not like the term 'weyrbrat' mostly because I honestly don't recall seeing it in Anne's earliest works, which (mostly) my guide for language use on Pern._**

* * *

**_Wendums: You are most likely correct about the origins of 'weyrbrat', although I might(? certainly I saw the word 'brat' in Dragon's Fire, although I don't think it was in reference to children of the Weyr) have seen it once in one of Todd's works (not that I particularly like his works.) Anne will always be my go to canon._**


	16. Chapter 16

_**If you missed the Hatching, go back and read the updated Chapter Fifteen.**_

* * *

Jurille sat at her couch, the faded wherry hide leather worn and patched in places, but ever so comfortable as compared to the stone stool with it's thin padding. A Record lay opened on the overstuffed arm of the couch as she entered the names of the new dragonpairs. B'ton lay on the couch, his head in her lap, his face flushed from a little too much celebratory wine, and his thoughts pleasantly hazy as he watched her write.

"I have a newfound respect for L'stur." He admitted after al long moment.

"Oh?" Jurille sounded bemused.

"All this time, I thought he was avoiding me, because I replaced him. But he was letting find my own flight path. I had only to ask."

With her free hand Jurille gently caressed his head. "Real leadership means knowing when to step back." She reminded him, getting to the list of new blueriders. "What did you think of our surprise's father?"

"He's a good man, trying to do right by his craft and kin. Did you know that the girl's mother had been Searched?"

"No, but after having met her I can see why."

"Tell me, please?" B'ton smiled up at her with his endearing plea. Jurille chuckled and nodded.

"So, after the Hatching and the congratulating of the new dragonpairs, I finally had the opportunity to sit down and eat some dinner...

* * *

"Weyrlady?" Jurille looked up from her conversation with the other queenriders to see a very pregnant healer approach the table. She stood, and offered the woman her seat. Gwedli flushed at the courtesy as she sat.

"My thanks, but I must speak to you about my daughter." She demurred.

"And your daughter is...?" Jurille braced herself for another of Benden's blowbys.

"Charel, the girl who impressed a blue." Gwedli sipped the cup of iced juice Koru poured for her. "My thanks, weyrwoman," she murmured to Koru, who smiled and pinked in response. Jurille pulled another seat up to Gwedli.

"Yes?"

"I've already spoken to her about the responsibility of being a dragonrider, but she's young. My mate and I, we've tried very hard to teach her all the things she will need to know, and yet shelter her from the cruelties of the world. Perhaps we sheltered her too much, I have heard what happened today, and I know it is no fault of your own. But, for all that my daughter is a vivid, clever girl, she's still so young. Please." She put the cup down and took Jurille's hand in her own. "I can't be here for her when she falls in love for the first time. I can't be here to help her choose the best dress for a Gather, or tell her what herbs to use for her first menstrual cramps. I know you have good teachers to instruct her in dragoncraft, and she_ will be _a good dragonrider, but do you also have someone to teach her how to be a woman?" Gwedli asked softly. Jurille squeezed her hands.

"I promise you, mother healer, we will not stint on either education. Your daughter is as welcome here as she is in your own hold."

"Then I place my faith, and my daughter, in your hands." Gwedli smiled a watery sad sort of smile, the same one all mothers share with foster mothers." Jurille concluded, still stroking B'ton's head as she penned the last of the greenriders' names and set her quill aside.

"Mmm... L'stur spoke of her like he was talking about one of the Magnificent Eight." B'ton responded.

"Really? Tell me what he said."

"L'stur offered to fly Reelon, the girl's father, back to his cothold and explain things to his mate. Mebeckle went with him, he said to give her an unbiased opinion, should she need reassurance about Weyrlife...

* * *

Joith landed in front of the door of the cothold, and Reelon slid down his side the same way he had seen dragonriders doing earlier in the day.

"Gwedli! Gwedli it's me!" He called, and knocked on the door. The door was thrown open and he was instantly mobbed by his daughters and mate, all asking questions.

"Reelon!" Gwedli's voice, usually soft, was hard and strident, cutting through the clamor of her daughters' questions. In the startled silence she asked very quietly. "Where is Charrie?"

Reelon swallowed, then smiled weakly. "S-she Impressed."

Gwedli looked from her mate to the other two men. Mebeckle and L'stur both nodded. "I had heard nothing of a queen egg on the Sands."

"She didn't Impress a queen." L'stur said.

Gwedli's eyes widened. "Charrie rides a green?" She asked, sounding less certain of herself. All three men shook their heads, and she stared at them perplexed.

"What then did she Impress, a firelizard?"

Reelon took her hands in his. "Gwedli, love, she Impressed a blue dragon." Gwedli pulled free, staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Again she looked at the other two men and saw only agreement from that corner.

"Take me to her."

"But, 'Li, the baby-" Reelon protested. Lips set in a tight line, her hands on her hips Gwedli glared from her mate to the bronzerider.

"You will take me to see my daughter." Her tone left no room for argument.

"Yes, of course." L'stur demurred, as she more waddled than marched up to the great bronze, who blinked at her with slowly whirling blue eyes, shining gently in the encroaching dusk.

"Master Bronze, would you be so kind as to lay down?" She asked, a courteous request that held a hint of a command. Joith blinked, then surprised everyone except Gwedli by laying down flat against the ground and extending his neck quite straight. Without another word Gwedli grabbed the riding straps as if she mounted dragons everyday and heaved herself up into the natural depression formed by Joith's neck and back.

"I am ready now, Master Bronze." She said diffidently, and Joith nodded, standing back up. He offered L'stur his leg, his eyes still blue, although the increase in speed suggested mirth.

"Thank you, Joith." L'stur added aloud, carefully arranging the riding straps so they did not add any undo strain to her belly. The he climbed aboard and turned to offer Reelon his hand.

"I really should stay with the girls." He hesitated, looking at the three girls watching from the doorway.

"You should go. I can watch the cot for you, and the girls seem to have things well in hand." Mebeckle said, motioning to the twins and Tibitha. Reelon hesitated for a moment longer and Gwedli gave him a scathing look.

"Are you or are you not the man I took as my mate?" She asked in a very soft voice.

Reelon took L'stur's hand and settled himself directly behind her, so both men bracketed her.

_I am going to jump now._ Joith informed all of them, causing Reelon to gasp in surprise as he leapt up with a surprisingly shallow jump, his wingtip actually touching the ground as he beat them faster than he usually would to gain the minimum altitude his bulk needed for flight.

_We are going _between_ now._ The bronze added again for the benefit of his passengers as L'stur projected the image of the Weyr. Once again Joith took the initiative, coming out of _betwee__n_ a mere wingspan above the far end of the Bowl. Gliding across so gently that there was almost no jolt when he came to a stop he landed, and laid down without any instruction, allowing Gwedli to dismount directly onto the steps leading to the Weyrling Barracks.

"Thank you, Joith." Gwedli said with a dip of her head to the old bronze, who dipped his great head in response. Reelon helped her to the small room that had been designated for Charel. There, Charel was sitting on her cot, Vaeth asleep with his head and as much of his shoulders he could fit, in her lap.

"Charrie," The girl looked up and a smile broke across her face.

"Ma! They really did bring you!" She struggled to stand but the deadweight of sleeping dragonet hampered her efforts.

"No, stay where you are." Gwedli said, and sat down next on the edge of the cot with a sigh. "So... you new friend really is blue." She remarked, looking over the near comatose beast.

"Yes, his name is Vaeth, and he's really curious and smart, and I can hear his voice in my head and everything!" Charel got out in a breathless rush. "He really likes it when you rub him behind the eyeridge-" she stopped suddenly looking at her mother anxiously. "You're not angry at me, are you?" She asked, her voice cracking from uncertainty.

"What? No. Of course not." Gwedli reached over and stroked the dragonet's head as directed, and in his sleep the little blue let out a contented sigh. "He's darling," she added, and watched joy bloom anew over Charel's face. They sat their quietly like that, in joyous silence for a number of heartbeats, then Gwedli sighed mental and touched Charel's hand.

"Charrie. We must talk." Charel slowly looked up at her mother. "Yes Ma?"

"Today you have been given an incredible gift, but also an immense responsibility. Your Vaeth is more than a working beast like Socks or Berk, your dragon is one half of a whole, and a symbol of the agreement between you and all of Pern. When your blue darling is large enough to fly and flame, it will be up to you to protect each other as you protect Pern. Not just your family or the cothold, not just the herdbeasts or Crafthall, all of Pern, all the people and animals, even the hard hearted ones that won't understand why a girl is flying a fighting dragon." She reached up and stroked the side Charel's face. "My sweet, curious baby, I am so proud of you."

* * *

Outside the privacy curtain L'stur listened in, unabashedly eavesdropping with Reelon.

"Why wasn't your mate Searched?" L'stur asked, only half in jest.

"She was." Reelon replied quietly, leaning against the wall. "She refused."

L'stur gave the younger man a startled look. Reelon grimaced good-naturedly. "She's terrified of heights." He explained.

"So that's why..." L'stur shook his head. "And here I though Joith was merely trying to be gentle."

_I was also trying to be gentle._ Joith interjected from his favorite perch. _It is unwise to anger a queen of any species._ L'stur coughed to cover his laugh.

"Ah, well, the Weyr's loss, your gain." He said quickly to smooth over any unduly long pauses.

"I think, Lord Bronzerider, the Weyr has had the greater gain today." Reelon said stiffly, and L'stur wondered if he had misread the journeyman.

_He is conflicted. He is proud to have another dragonrider in his Bloodline, and relieved that she Impressed a blue, not a green,_ Joith sounded puzzled by that. _But he is worried, because she impressed a fighting color. I do not understand. Greens and golds both fight, but he is happy that Vaeth is a blue._

L'stur, having the benefit of having been fostered at Telgar Hold for a time, understood. _He is worried because of the reputation greenriders have among Holders._

"You need not worry about your girl Impressing a fighting color," L'stur offered gently.

"Your dragon's been telling on me?" Reelon asked, and was rewarded with a guilty look from the bronzerider.

"He listens in on me, mostly to keep me out of trouble." L'stur admitted.

"Heh. A flight of queens might be better guardians for Charrie." Reelon sighed.

"Your girl is a troublemaker?" L'stur asked mildly. Reelon shook his head. "Worst, she's endlessly curious. Smart too, and I'm not saying that because she's kin. Rather than foster her Gwedli and I were looking at getting her early admittance to the Herdcrafthall." Reelon looked almost sad. "How-how long before she's expected to fly Thread?"

"It's a full Turn before they're capable of prolonged flight, and we don't train firestoning until they've mastered going _between_." He explained as blandly as possible.

"There's only three more Turns of Threadfall left... what's she to do after that?" Reelon gave the bronzerider a puzzled look.

"Well, that's up to her, but I rather imagine the Hall would be very interested in having a journeyman who has her own transportation." L'stur hinted broadly. "I'm sure you've met our Weyrherdsman," Reelon nodded. "His contract with the us ends in eleven Turns, so if he wished to leave, she could take over, as we like to be as self sufficient as possible."

Further conversation was precluded by Gwedli appearance in the doorway.

"You neglected to mention the attack." She said to Reelon, with a faint frown.

"You neglected to give me time to." He replied without rancor. Gwedli dipped her head, acknowledging his point. "Say goodnight to your daughter." She said gently, a soft catch in her throat, then turned to L'stur. "Please, may I speak to the Weyrlady?"

"Hmm... that must have been when went she went to see you." B'ton added.

"Did Reelon ever mention who in his Bloodline had Impressed?" Jurille asked, closing the Record with the title on the spine reading _Hatchings_.

"No, but the dragons, Wubath and Joith both, said he thought a lot about them. Why?"

"Oh, I was merely wondering if this was more proof that 'riding was a genetic trait." _Graesth, is either Finth or Rekouth awake?_

_Yes._ The gold murmured sleepily. _Rekouth is listening to the harpers sing._

_Tell him that he and M'gi are to pop over to the girl's cothold and collect her things tomorrow._

_M'gi wants to know if they are to sniff out candidates while he's there. _Graesth yawned.

_If he doesn't mind too terribly._ Jurille replied coyly. Graesth snorted, and B'ton snored.

* * *

**_As per usual, any and all grammatical and spelling errors being pointed out to me is greatly appreciated._**

**_Language notes: It is so RARE in McCaffery's novels for a Weyr to have multiple queenriders of note that for the sake of this fanfic I am using the term Weyrlady to denote the senior queenrider. However, it is a rank given and used only by the non-Weyr folk, amongst the dragonriders themselves it is not used._**

**_MageOfRoses, I apologize that Namul and Fulsa aren't more developed, they will be as we see more of them in chapters to come. _**


	17. Chapter 17

Charel woke at dawn, and for a moment considered sleeping in as Vaeth snoozed peacefully in her mind. Then she remembered that the drovers would leave after breakfast, and hurried to get up. She wanted to see her friends off, a small gesture on her part, perhaps, but currently the only gift she could give them, in return for the kindness and loyalty they'd shown her.

Vaeth didn't even twitch as she dressed, so deeply asleep was he. Tiptoeing out of the Barracks for the benefit of the other Weyrlings, she hurried across the misty Bowl, the fine mist coming off the bathing lake. Looking up she noticed the watch dragon, a brown, catching the first rays of the rising sun. Like she would with Vaeth or the watchwhers, she mentally wished the watch dragon a good morning.

_Good morning, bluerider._ The mental touch was so light and the brown's voice so soft that Charel wondered if perhaps she had imagined it. But she turned and smiled up at the dragonpair anyway, then jogged to the entrance to the Lower Caverns

She'd timed her arrival just right, as the other drovers were breaking their fast. There was a smattering of good natured ribbing, mostly about trading up mounts, but the pride they had for her was genuine. Looking around, Charel noticed a telling absence.

"Where's my Pa?" She asked Old Larst softly, sitting down opposite the head drover.

"Your mother's water broke the moment she got home, or so says the bronzerider. Your father staid, since the baby's early." Old Larst explained, dishing extra sweetening into his cereal.

"Oh." Charel wrinkled her nose for a moment. "The baby's only a fortnight early, that shouldn't be a problem... right?"

"Nope." Keslo said, and pushed the bowl of shredded cheese towards her. She spooned in two heaps of cheese, then crumbled her bacon on top. "If it were your mother's first, it might be cause for alarm, but successive sibs tend to come a little earlier." He winked reassuringly at her.

"Oh, okay." She stirred her cereal then looked up perplexed. "What about Socks and Star? There's no way they'd let a dragon carry them between."

The drovers chuckled at the notion, as Old Larst nodded in somber agreement. "Kelso and I will bring them back. With no herd to drive, they should be in their home stalls by the end of the week."

"Oh. Thank you." Charel replied feeling a little embarrassed at putting them out.

"My pleasure," Keslo said with a big grin. "I've been itching to ride Socks for a while now."

Charel spent the rest of the meal in pleasant banter, then walked with them to the stables. Hugging each one, she waved after them until they disappeared down the Tunnel. The Lower Caverns were buzzing with activity at this point, and at loose ends, Charel reported to Tress for a chore.

"Well, aren't you a helpful lass," Tress remarked. "Is little Vaeth still asleep?" Charel closed her eyes for a moment then nodded.

"Your blue is going to be ravenous when he wakes, so let me show you how to make his meals." Tress led her to one of the coldcaves, facing the Bowl proper, and demonstrated how to pull down a carcass. When Charel proved adept at carving, Tress asked her to disarticulate several wherries for the noon time meal. Charel gladly did, inactivity not sitting well with her, and was carrying the wherries back to the kitchen when every dragon in the Weyr sat up and let out a piercing note, a high pitched keen that continued to rise until it passed out of human hearing.

In her mind Vaeth cried out, and Charel dropped the bag of wherry, racing back to the Barracks. The Barracks were in chaos, and Charel had to shove panicking half-dressed Weyrlings aside to reach her room. She ripped the curtain aside just as the second keening hit.

Vaeth, wings outstretched leapt from the bed where he had been searching for her into Charel's arms, knocking her to the floor, the little blue's mind babbling with fear and heart-retching sadness.

* * *

"What happened? There's no Fall today!" Pilana demanded to no one in particular.

"Great eggs..." Koru sank into a nearby chair, her cereal spilling unheeded onto the floor. Reema, pouring herself a mug of fresh _klah_, spilled all over the table, and Urlyra started to choke when Jurille reached around and pounded her on the back. Urlyra coughed then nodded her thanks, wiping her watery eyes.

_Benden's Hatching did not go well. _Graesth informed her, her mental tone heavy with grief.

"Sweet mercy, two hatchling?" Reema whispered, sitting down next to Koru, whose face was wet with tears. Deaths of hatchlings were second only to queen deaths.

"W-what happened?" Pilana asked again, this time directing her question to her dragon.

_Benden could not Search, so they did not have enough candidates to stand on the Sands._

* * *

Word of the hatchling deaths reverberated across the drumheights. Namul reached over to pluck at Fulsa's elbow as they rode back from the night's search. Telgarsk and Namusk had already winged home and were safely ensconced in their enclosures. The wherhandlers were tired, having gone from the Hatching straight to helping the watch search out the Holdless's camp in the hanging valley surprisingly close to the main Hold.

The camp was a ring of lean-tos, roofed with slate and hidden under the dense foliage of skybroom. The scattering of articles suggested that the Holdless had left in a hurry. Namul and several watch members looked through the lean-tos as Fulsa lead the remainder with the assistance of the watchwhers to find where the Holdless went.

In one of the lean-tos they found the cold body of a tall man, a nasty festering wound in his leg and his throat slit. Namul had made a face and walked out, and waited for the party to return, which after several hours they did, losing the path when they came to a swiftly running stream.

"Bad luck for Benden." Fulsa sighed, and wished mightily for her bed.

"Bad luck for Pern." Namul retorted, and belatedly Fulsa remembered that her mate had once been Searched.

"Love, I didn't mea-"

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm tired." He interrupted, immediately contrite. Fulsa reached across the gap between the two runners and squeezed his hand.

"It's been a long day for all of us, pet. And," her voice took on a teasing tone, "I noticed Namusk was looking rather green today."

Namul laughed and leaned over to hug her. "She's off cycle if she is," he said, grinning, "say, I was thinking, Charrie won't be able to go home for Turn Over with her dragonet. Do you think Telgarsk would object to flying us up to the Weyr?"

"No, I rather imagine he would relish the challenge." Fulsa said, kissing forehead, then chuckled. "Ah, won't my cousin be surprised when we go _between_ to get home?" She added, grinning like a wild wherry with a poultry in its claws.

* * *

_**Short but critical. As always, please let me know if I misspell or use poor grammar.**_


	18. Chapter 18

Gl'tek was in a towering rage when he made it to the Weyrling Barracks. The double death was upsetting enough for grown dragons, but the dragonets were in hysterics and the confusion of the Weyrlings only fed it. It was a pity, he realized with sharp disapproval that the only person with any sense was that _girl_ who had the audacity to Impress a fighting color. She was sitting outside the Weyrling Barracks, caressing her blue and speaking soothingly to him. If he hadn't known that beyond the walls was chaos, he'd have simply assumed she was soothing the dragonet after eating too much. He gave her a second glance, and saw a mostly empty bucket of meat next to her. His lip curled in distaste and he walked past her without a word. Inside the Barracks was worse than he feared and he asked his green to bespeak Graesth, just to quiet the lot down. Graesth obliged and the silence was a welcome, if deafening change.

Tempering his rage Gl'tek took a deep breath. "Lads, get ahold of yourselves. You're only scaring your dragons worst. Reassure them. Pet them, speak to them, shards, sing if you have to but calm down!"

The Weyrlings tried their best and eventually the dragonets calmed down enough to realize that they were hungry. Gl'tek, finally back on familiar ground, marshaled the Weyrlings out to the coldcaves and showed them the proper way to cut up the carcasses into bite-sized morsels. Thirty-five ravenous dragonets made quick work of the six herdbeasts, although the squeamish look on a number of the Weyrlings' faces suggested this was a task that would take some getting used to.

* * *

Charel watched from a respectful distance, Vaeth drowsing in her lap. C'bay noticed her, and walked over to sit down next to her.

"Hey bluerider," he said with an easy grin, and was rewarded with the flash of a smile.

"Morning!" Charel glanced around, "where's Mirrth?"

C'bay laughed, a much needed release. "She's having some breakfast too," he pitched his tone lower, conspiratorially, "don't tell Niko, but she like wherry better than herdbeasts."

"Oh noes," Charel giggled, "Does she eat more often as a result?" C'bay blinked, then thought about.

"Now that you mention it, yes. She always nabs a wherry first thing in the morning." He scratched his chin. "How come you aren't with the others?" He asked a little quieter. Charel looked down at Vaeth, who was staring up at her with adoring eyes.

"I've already fed Vaeth," she replied, scratching him under the chin. "And I don't think the Weyrlingmaster likes us," she added in a whisper.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm pretty certain Gl'tek doesn't like anyone but his dragon. And some days I'm not even certain of that." C'bay said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Just do what he tells you to do, and you'll be fine. Besides, blues and greens grow the quickest, so you'll graduate to your own weyr long before any of the bronzes and browns." His grin turned predatorily. "Be grateful Vaeth isn't a brown or bronze. Gl'tek is downright brutal on them."

"Oh? Why's that?" Charel asked.

"Because he expects future Wingleaders and Wingseconds to be perfect."

* * *

Valtree joined the queenriders, sipping her mug of _klah_ while Pilana and Reema made suggestions for dinner entertainment. Jurille had stepped out, being summoned away by Tress. Urlyra was trying to learn the string game from Koru, in an attempt to distract her from thinking about the two lost hatchlings.

"Are you sure we shouldn't make space and have a proper dance floor?"Pilana asked. Reema and Valtree winced.

"That's not really a good idea. If anyone wants to dance I'll put an apprentice out in the Bowl. Dancing the way you dragonfolk do after a death..." Valtree sighed quietly. "Frankly, it's simply not safe in close quarters."

Reema nodded. "Riders tend to get... acrobatic." She looked down at her cold cup of _klah_. "The night Th'cry died, those that didn't drink to dull the pain danced themselves into a frenzy. I helped the Weyrhealer wrap bloody feet, wretched wrists and set not less than two dislocated shoulders," she grimaced. "We were barely able to raise a minimal Flight the next Fall. It was only the sheerest of luck that most of it fell into the sea."

"I-I didn't realize..." Pilana said softly.

"Don't be surprised if the bronzes pay extra attention to you tonight." Koru added, holding up the triple wing form of the string cradle game. Reema felt for the youngest queenrider. Sageth hadn't risen yet, being only three and a half Turns out of the egg. But weyrbred from High Reaches she frequently knew more about the inner workings of Weyrlife, and was deemed more approachable by a large number of the Lower Caverns.

"Have they been pestering you?" Pilana asked, concerned. Koru shook her head, and passed the string back to Urlyra.

"I know all their tricks. I think they've given up on me," she smiled embarrassedly.

_Deerith comes._ The queenriders looked at each other in surprise and as one stood from their seats, turning to go out and meet the Benden queen.

Jurille was already waiting on the Bowl floor as the green tinged gold landed and her rider, nineteen Turn old Ofsee dismounted with difficulty. It took the other queenriders a moment to realize that Ofsee was pregnant under her riding jacket.

Ofsee shed her gear, jacket helmet and gloves, dropping them at her feet, her eyes swollen from crying, her cheeks red with rage. Jurille noticed Deerith's eyes were red and her tail swished.

"That motherless son of a herdbeast turd," Ofsee spat out, angrily waddling over to Jurille, "he has the _gall_ to tell me it was my fault the hatchlings went between!" She raged, her brown hair throwing red highlights in the noonday sun.

"Peace, sister. Who said such nonsense?" Jurille asked softly.

"C'seld!" The name might as well be a curse word. "And the greens? That's the Archivist's fault."

"Wait, what is Reelu's fault?" Reema demanded. Ofsee sniffed, wiping her eyes dry on her sleeve.

"The three women that Impressed greens. C'seld accused the Archivist of planting notions- hah! in the heads of the women from the Lower Caverns. He knows full well that he'd have had enough candidates if the Lord Holders hadn't refused him Search privileges."

"Wait, wait- WHAT? The _Lord Holders_ refused him? Why didn't you come to us?" Pilana asked, appalled.

"Kimi asked Brinda, she flatly refused." Ofsee twisted her hands. "We thought with only sixteen eggs we could cover it with lads from the Lower Caverns, but they were all gone! The headman gave some flimflam about fostering, but you know full well that's not what's going on." Ofsee looked up, frustrated tears leaking down her face. "They aren't safe as long as C'seld is Weyrleader. We have Fall tomorrow- you get those greenriders out of there!"

* * *

_**Another short one, because my holidays aren't my own. More on Sunday. Let me know if you catch any grammar or spelling errors.**_


	19. Chapter 19

M'gi and Rekouth materialized above the tiny cothold, brilliant blue against the pale gray clouds that obscured the sun. Below, ovines in the close cropped summer coats grazed contentedly, blissfully unaware of the dragonpair above.

_If you can, land downwind of the herdbeasts No reason to put their livelihood off their feed. _M'gi told his blue, who acknowledged wordlessly by circling. The Search dragon was off color his hide taking on a little of the sky's pallor in response to the hatchling deaths. M'gi was grateful for this task, as it kept his beloved mind-mate from dwelling on the deaths.

_Who did the Weyrwoman want me to look at? _Rekouth asked, neatly landing inside the padlock attached to the cot where the runner would have been pastured. He was proud of his tight landings, frequently putting smaller greens to shame with his talent for landing on hard to reach ledges, to check for escaped door of the cot burst open and three girls tumbled out, all racing to the padlock, but politely, warily even, waiting on the other side of the wooden fence.

"Is it Charrie?" The littlest girl asked.

"No..." The older two, twins, identical but for the color of their aprons, replied in unison.

_These girls, if I don't miss my mark._ M'gi replied, and slapped Rekouth's neck affectionately.

_They are very young..._ Rekouth replied doubtfully, lowing his great head to peer at the girls would stared back unflinchingly. Yellow apron giggled.

"Hello! Is this the cot of Herder Reelon and Healer Gwedli?" M'gi asked casually, sliding down Rekouth's side. The older girls nodded, and the youngest added "They're our Ma and Pa."

"Well, could I speak with one of them?" M'gi asked, walking up to the padlock gate and opening it. Not receiving an answer he closed it behind him, even as the irony of closing the gate on a _flying _creature quirked his lips.

"Sure." The twins agreed, but didn't move, admiring the dragon sitting in the padlock, his tail curled around his forelegs patiently.

_I promise not to leave if one of you will fetch either of them._ Rekouth told the girls, his eyes speeding up slightly, divining the cause of the lack of action.

"Oh, ok. I can get Pa." One of the twins, brown apron, skipped back inside.

"Is it really cold _between_ Master Blue?" The younger girl asked. "Because you look really cold, mebbe even frostbit." She ignored her sister's attempt to shush her.

_It is bitterly cold _between, _bluerider's sister. _Rekouth agreed. _But I am gray because I am sad._

"Oh... please don't be sad," the older girl said, reaching between the rails to pat the blue's foreleg.

"Yeah, don't be sad, we love you!" The youngest chimed in, and also pet his leg. M'gi bit his lip, not sure whether he was trying to keep from laughing or crying at the sight of the two girls trying to comfort his blue.

_You are very kind. _Rekouth's green spinning eyes turned a hue bluer. _M'gi, all of these girls are very receptive. _M'gi replied mentally nodding. It was a truism of the Search, most children _were_ receptive to the gentle mind-touch of dragons. Whether it was a condition that lasted into puberty was another thing entirely.

"Ah, bluerider, Master Blue, good day to you." Reelon said, emerging from the cothold, following his excited daughter who turned to Rekouth and said "I brought him! Do you know my sister and her blue?"

_I met Vaeth this morning. He is very fond of your sister._ The blue replied to all three girls, as M'gi introduced himself to Reelon.

"M'gi and Rekouth of Telgar, sir. The Weyrwoman asked me to collect anything extra of Charel's that you wish her to have while she's Weyr-bound." M'gi explained with the air of this being something of a daily occurrence.

"We bundled Charrie's things last night." Yellow apron said, and the two men turned to see all three girls inside the padlock, rubbing Rekouth behind the eyeridges. The blue positively radiated pleasure. M'gi bit his lip, this time to keep from laughing.

_Nice harem you have there, Rekouth. _He teased the dragon, who merely responded with a burst of satisfaction.

"Should I be worried that he's going to become a permanent fixture in my padlock?" Reelon asked easily.

"Naw, he's a big loveable lump is all." M'gi grinned and shook his head. "If you'd like me to pass on some personal correspondence to your girl, I can wait for you to write it up."

Reelon looked at the bluerider, a little taken aback at the offer. "I thank you, M'gi of Rekouth. With the baby being born I hadn't given a whole lot of thought to much of anything." He looked to his daughters.

"Relecca," brown apron looked up, "get some refreshments for our guest. Durzi," yellow apron nodded, "a table and chairs, out here, that he may enjoy his rest with his dragon. Tiblet, get my writing things, quietly please, so you don't wake the baby." Reelon glanced back at M'gi. "Forgive me for a moment, I'd like to tell my mate of your presence." He explained as the girls scattered to their tasks, before he returned to cot.

Gwedli, resting in their bed, smiled sleepily as he related all that had occurred outside in hushed tones, their youngest, a little boy, sleeping in a cradle next to the bed.

"Tell Charrie I'll write shortly." She murmured, and squeezed his hand. The baby tried to be born breeched, but, Reelon, a veteran of many breeched births with herdbeasts, turned the baby with minimal discomfort to Gwedli.

"I will, my heart." He whispered, and gave her a whiskery kiss before returning below.

There, he discovered, much to his and M'gi's chagrin, the girls had decided to make a mini-Gather of it, the big table set up against the fence, five chairs set around it, all facing the blue, and a small feast laid out. His writing utensils sitting atop several sheets of homemade vellum sat in one chair, while M'gi explained to the girls what Charel was most likely doing as they set out the last of the food and drink. M'gi smiled sheepishly as Reelon approached.

"You flatter me and Rekouth with such hospitality." He said, as Durzi offered him a skin of chilled water.

"Guests are few and far between out here." Reelon replied sardonically, sitting to pen a letter to Charel.

* * *

It took a lot of soothing, but eventually Ofsee was calmed enough to retire to Jurille's weyr. Deerith settled down with the Telgar queens and slept, the first real sleep, according to her rider, that she had since the halls pulled their people.

Jurille asked Graesth to summon Zandur, as the younger queenrider's color wasn't good, then got to the meat of the matter regarding the Hatching.

"Eight green, four blues and two browns. The two that went between were a bronze and a brown- not that _he_ cares, few rivals for his bronze." Ofsee said bitterly. "We had exactly sixteen candidates, four of whom I thought were too young, only nine and ten Turns old, and _of course_ not a one of them impressed." She shook her head, "the women from the Lower Caverns that Impressed, all good woman that staid after the browns revolted."

"What do you mean, the browns revolted?" Jurille asked, pouring her a cup of iced water.

"A Turn after I Impressed, all the Wingseconds took a stand against C'seld, saying his treatment of the folk in the Lower Caverns was deplorable and his demands exceeded tithe obligations. C'seld laughed at them, finally provoking one of them D'inae, I think is his name, to a duel. D'inea was from the clutch before Deerith's. He didn't stand a chance. C'seld beat him black and blue, then ordered him out of the Weyr. I heard he transferred to Igen..." She closed her eyes for a moment. "That broke the spirit of the fighting colors, and we've been on eggshells around C'seld ever since."

"And Kimi has done nothing?" Jurille asked, a pit in her stomach growing.

"She thinks he's in the right," Ofsee said wearily, and shifted uncomfortably. "She can't understand why folk don't see that his leadership is all that keeps the territory of Benden free from Thread." She sighed, "that's the only good thing I can say about him, Thread hasn't gotten through the Wings in the entire time that I've been there, for all that we've lost riders from time to time."

There was a discreet cough, and Jurille pulled the privacy fur aside to admit Zandur.

"Ofsee, this is Healer Zandur." The younger queenrider nodded and Jurille stepped out to allow her the modesty of a private consultation. Out in the Bowl she watched the newest Weyrlings clean and oil their dragonets, her eyes seemingly drawn to the girl who had impressed the blue.

_Vaeth. _Graesth helpfully provided. _Vaeth and Charel._

_Yes, of course love._

_You are troubled._ Graesth stated matter of factually.

_Yes. Ofsee wants us to in essence kidnap those greenriders_

_Offer a trade. _Graesth suggested, and opened one wing, stretching it. _Offer him some of the Weyrlings that are ready to learn to flame. He will appreciate dragonpairs that he can use in short order._

_That's not a bad idea._ Jurille nodded thoughtfully. _I will ask the other queenriders._

_As you will. Zandur is looking for you. _Graesth paused._ He says to tell you he is very worried._

Jurille turned and took the three steps back into the weyr. Zandur looked up, and Jurille noticed the young queenrider had been moved into her bed.

"She can't go back." He stated without preamble. "Flying _between_ will kill her."

Jurille blinked.

"I'm sorry." Ofsee said with a little hiccupping sob. "I didn't know- please, I don't want to lose the baby!"

"Peace." Zandur grumbled. "You're not going to lose the child. Nor will we let you die. But you are grounded until the baby is born. No one else is going to die because of C'seld's stupidity on my watch." He all but growled, then looked to Jurille. "Ofsee needs bedrest and easy access to me. Can we keep her in one of the queenweyrs?"

"She can have this one. B'ton won't mind sharing his weyr with me for a change." _Graesth, please bespeak Couragth. Ask Brinda if I can visit._

"I didn't mean to put you out..." Ofsee said in a tiny voice.

"Nonsense. We're dragonriders, sister. We protect all life." Jurille said soothingly.

Ofsee wept then, whispering "I wish- I wish Kimi was as good a weyrwoman as you."

* * *

"Rekouth says all three girls are exceptionally receptive, but they are also very young." M'gi reported to Jurille, before the noon meal. Jurille, bereft of her weyr, had set up a quasi-study in one of the natural alcoves in the wall of the Bowl, halfway between her weyr and the entrance to the Lower Caverns. It had last been used as a temporary storage four sour fruit, and a pleasant citrusy smell lingered as Jurille listened to M'gi's report.

"How young are we talking about?" Jurille queried, her silverpoint tapping lightly on the record she had been inscribing. One of the women from Benden had an unusual weaving technique that created a waffle pattern, that Jurille was attempting to draw into the Record.

"The twins are eight Turns, the youngest is five Turns in a month's time." M'gi explained.

"Hm... well, we'll just have to check back in four or five Turns, won't we?" Jurille replied, and made a note for herself on a little wax tablet. "Please pass my thanks onto Rekouth." M'gi nodded, and went to find Tress, carrying the bundle of Charel's things.

* * *

"I count six queens". Charel stated at dinner. Lybae nodded. The weyrling had found her friend at lunch, and they had agreed to eat together as often as their respective duties allowed.

"Who's visiting?" Charel asked between bite. The orange roots had been baked with a thin sweet and spicy sauce. Charel helped herself to a second helping as Lybae cut a red root into smaller pieces.

"Ofsee of Benden. And she's not visiting, she's staying until her baby is born. If she flies _between_ she'll lose it." Then she added in a hushed tone, "She's really sick, and no one at Benden realized."

"Why didn't the Weyrhealer see that?" Charel asked innocently.

"Because all the Hall folk left Benden" Lybae cut her fish in half with a sniff. Charel nearly spat out her juice. "What-why?"

"You didn't know?" Lybae briefly outlined the details of Benden Weyr's crimes. "Where were you that you didn't hear the Hall notice to refuse Benden riders?"

"Four days and a fortnight ago we left to drive the herd." Charel paused. "One ram can cover a herd of fifty ewes in a week. How many bronzeriders does Benden have?"

Lybae giggled at the comparison of bronzeriders to ovines. "Thirty-ish and don't forget to multiply by ten years." She replied cheekily, mashing her tubers and red roots together. Charel blanched, her mind staggering at the numbers.

"How-how many children...?" Charel asked, certain there was no way her arithmetic could be right.

"Over four hundred." Lybae wasn't laughing now.

"That's enough people to make an entirely new Weyr." Charel sputtered. Lybae nodded and snagged two purple-blue sugarfruits, placing one on Charel's plate.

"That's why it's such a big deal." Lybae said. "That's a lot of obligations for six Weyrs, but for one?" She shook her head. "No _single_ Weyr could support all of those children. And," Lybae looked at Charel with ancient eyes, "Holders don't understand that being part of a dragonpair means having to put the dragon first. If they were weyrlings, the Lower Caverns could see to their needs. But being outside the Weyr, a lot of them don't understand the work and time that dragons take."

Charel looked down at her plate and tried to imagine her life without her father.

"That's so sad..." she whispered as the harpers began playing a happy tune.

"I know. That's why being a dragonrider means having to be honorable all the time." Lybae said, then cast a wary eye around. "You... might want to turn in early tonight, Char." She said in a soft voice. "The Harpers are going to try to make everyone forget the hatchling deaths, but... it'll get odd before the night is out." Charel, finishing her sugarfruit, nodded and quietly wished her friend a goodnight, looking forward to hitting the hay.

* * *

**_sourfruit: lemons_**

**_red root: beets_**

**_orange root: carrots_**

**_sugarfruit: Italian plums_**

**_tubers: potatos_**

**_Thought? Errors? Let me know._**


	20. Chapter 20

Namul rode with the harper and two other guardsmen back to the Holdless camp. Unlike his mate, who viewed the harper with a curious mistrust, Namul liked the older man well enough, riding in companionable silence alongside of him.

"Guardsman," Harper Lithvu started, and briefly Namul wondered if that was what Fulsa disliked about the man, for he never acknowledged the watchwhers. "Please tell me about the dead man."

"Heh, he was a real piece of work. Fourth son of a minor Holder that looked to Igen, thrown out of countless Gathers for brawling, although what got him exiled was being caught stealing from SmithHall. He broke the back of one apprentice in the attempt." Namul shook his head. "Smith Hendar will never walk again."

"Terrible." Lithvu said with a sigh. "Do we know who murdered the man?"

"No," Namul sighed, "we still don't have a clear idea of even how many were there, other than the rough number of shelters built. The drovers said a group of ten men attacked them, but that at least one other person shot arrows at them when they attempted to pursue, so... there could easily be twenty-two, if you consider a mate for every attacker."

"That's a sizable group for Holdless. How did they remain undetected?" Lithvu asked with a raised eyebrow at the smaller man. Namul shrugged helplessly. "Your guess is as good as mine. Namusk had a hard time seeing the shelters from the air, so I suspect they-" Namul interrupted himself as the lead guardsman, Delka, held up a hand, stopping them as his blue fire lizard popped out of the air and landed on his arm, his eyes blazing red and chattering.  
"What's got Scout so riled?" Namul asked, shifting in his seat, his hand drifting to his sword. It was three hours before dusk and Namusk was still sound asleep. Delka, soothed his lizard and frowned.

"Something big has been through the camp." He said slowly, piecing through the images the little lizard sent him. "The site's been tore up bad. Scout says whatever did it is still there."

"Define big." Lithvu ordered, as the whole purpose of this trip was for him to report back to the Masterharper the methods used by the Holdless in camouflage their encampment. Delka stroked his fire lizard, who continued to chatter angrily.

"Iffin' that's a watchwher, it's the largest I've ever seen." He said, blood slowly draining from his face.

"I've seen the queenwher, she's as large as a green." Namul said, trying to quash his fears.

"Iffin' that's so, then this is the largest bronze ever hatched," Delka said uneasily. "Scout doesn't exaggerate, I trained him better 'en that. Sir," he addressed Lithvu, "iffin' it's all the same to you, I'd much rather we turn back now, while we still have the safety of daylight."

"Nonsense. Lord Kestle wouldn't turn back just because of the fears of a flit, and neither will I."

"Lord Kestle isn't here, harper, 'n' the lizard says there's danger, I'm not going." The other watch said, frowning at Lithvu.

"Lord Kestle expects us to stay alive when we can. Scout says going up there's a suicide mission, Harper. I'm not going neither." Delka said staunchly. Namul sighed.

"And you, are you a coward, or would you like to see the largest bronze wher ever hatched?" Lithvu asked Namul, staring at him. Mentally Namul groaned. "I'll go, but I need Scout to deliver a message for me first." He pulled out a strip of vellum as Lithvu impatiently started his runner further up the path. "As for you two, if anything happens to us, " he said, writing out two short notes, "I _sent_ you back, because four was far too dangerous to approach what is in all likelihood a feral wher." He tightly rolled the strip and Delka tied it to the little blue's leg. "Take this to Fulsa, Fulsa." Mentally Namul projected the image of his mate, tousled hair tumbled over her pillow as she lay sleeping in their bed. Scout gave a soft croon before disappearing.

"And him?" The other guardsman indicated the harper with a sidelong glance.

"Iffin' this beast is the size of even an ordinary wher he won't complain. Bronzes are big on a good day. A feral bronze... " Namul shook his head. "Go. We'll be back by dawn or not at all." With that cheerful farewell he turned his runner to follow the harper's, to the hanging valley.

* * *

**_Short because I had to tighten up the timeline. Sorry for my tardiness. Several more short chapters to come this week._**

**_As always, please alert me to spelling or grammar errors._**


	21. Chapter 21

The sun was a mere hand span above the horizon when they arrived to the hanging valley. Lithvu objected at first, but finally agreed to make the last of the trip on foot. The fire lizard had not exaggerated, Namul realized with a sickening feeling. The assorted huts with their slate roofs, so cleverly designed to resemble rock formations from the air had been flattened. But, he noted with a critical eye, deliberately so. The two toed claw marks that gouged out the little patch of herbs that had been tended in the sunniest portion of the glade were a telltale sign of the culprit. Only one shelter remained, and the low snoring coming from it hinted at its occupant. Lithvu pointed to the hut, indicating that he wanted to get closer. Namul bit his lip and looked meaningfully at the setting sun.

"Quickly, then." Lithvu mouthed with a rakish smile that all harpers seemed to possess. Namul rolled his eyes, then joined him as they silently crossed the clearing. The door had been smashed to bits, littered around the opening as the two men peered into the shadowed interior. Inside, curled up in a tight ball and cradling a sleeping red haired man was a monstrous bronze. Namul blanched, and tugged at Lithvu's sleeve, indicating it was past time to go. Lithvu, unnerved at the sight of a wher the size of a small blue dragon, fled without complaint. As the men retreated to their runners the remaining sunlight felt all too brief. Namul yanked his runner's reins free, and mounted on the run.

"Who was that?" Lithvu hissed, mounting first, then pulling his reins free.

"The Red Butcher of Ruatha." Namul replied, and kicked his runner into a trot.

"That's not possible!" Lithvu argued. "He was exiled to an eastern island!"

"Harper, I worked security at his trial, that is Redell. And that bronze monster? Two Turns ago there was an attack on the WherHold by a group of Holdless. They got away with a number of eggs, all but two, one of which was thought to be a queen egg from its sheer size was never recovered." Namul swallowed dryly. "Watchwhers aren't dragons, in the hands of the wrong people they are terrifying killing machines."

"I know my history, guardsman." Lithvu snapped as his runner crowded Namul's, slipping a little on the rocky path.

"Do you?" Namul asked, wishing with all his heart that they had heeded the fire lizard's warning. "Do you know why the current Telgarsk is a blue and not the brown Lord Kestle Impressed?"

"Lord Kestle was bonded to a wher?" Lithvu asked, stunned momentarily, as his runner clambered down the trail.  
"Spend more time with us mere wherhandlers, harper, you'll be amazed at what we know." Namul replied bitterly. Lithvu opened his mouth to retort, then gasped and pointed up into the trees. Two gold fire lizards stared ominously down at them, their eyes whirling orange.

"Fardles and shards!" Namul added a couple other choice words, as his mind screamed for Namusk to wake up. The dragonriders had been too merciful that day eleven turns ago when they had exiled Redell to an island with warm sands, he thought grimly. Fire lizards, like watchwhers, lacked the moralistic streak inherent in dragons. Their presence had not only been noted, but was doubtlessly being transmitted back to 'the Red Butcher'.

The men urged their runners ever faster as the trail leveled out and the sun finally sank beneath the horizon. From the hills behind them an eerie howl pierced the gloom, driving the runners to a near panic. They plunged down the trail, heedless now of its rocky nature, and burst out of the brush onto a Messenger's trail in a panicked gallop. Namul, finally free of the grasping underbrush, drew his sword and pointed to the left handed fork in the trail. If Lithvu responded he couldn't hear it over the triumphant roar of the bronze as it landed before them. Lithvu's runner couldn't stop in time, and ran headlong into the beast's open maw. There was a sickening crunch, and Lithvu screamed, falling to the ground. Namul's runner, insane with fear, tried to race between the wher and the slight embankment. The wher's tail swung out and knocked the runner's feet out from under it. Namul, saved only from years of rough and tumble play with his watchwher, leapt free of the saddle as the bronze dispatched his runner with a snap of his jaws. Unarmed, and badly bruised, Namul stood and found himself eye to eye with the towering bronze, its eyes red with hunting lust.

* * *

**_Please let me know if you find any grammatical or spelling errors._**

**_A friend reading this has said she didn't think watchwhers got that large, so allow me to explain, that according to _****Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern, d****_ragons really hadn't reached their full size until the 6th Pass. By that logic the whers probably hadn't either, and even in a population with a fairly stable size there is always the potential for a single individual to be outside the norm. Please, any and all feedback is welcome._**


	22. Chapter 22

"**_TELGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!_**"

Blue hide flared into existence as wherfire, as hot as any dragon's raked the bronze's back. Fulsa, his beautiful, fearless mate screamed the Hold's name again, the Watch's battle cry, hurling a heavy harpoon at the monstrous bronze. Startled, the bronze hopped_ between_, only to re-emerge in the air a hundred leagues up, to deal with the fire spewing blue. Namul sped to the fallen harper. Wings rustled, and he looked up to see his green staring at him, her eyes white with fear, as she dipped her shoulder to him. Namul grabbed the harper, one hand bitten clean off, and tossed him unconscious, across Namusk's back like a sack of tubers. Grabbing ahold of the green's harness he thought hard of Hold Healer's medical garden, in a little courtyard next to his cot. Namusk took them _between_.

* * *

B'ton leaned against Wubath as the Masterharper raced across the courtyard of HarperHall. Lady Minket's bronze fire lizard had materialized before dinner, bearing a frantic message in the Lord Holder's hand. B'ton, grateful for an excuse to be out of the oppressively sad atmosphere, took the task. Degal puffed up to the pair, handing his heavy rucksack off to the bronzerider as he climbed aboard Wubath.

"You got a message too?" B'ton asked curiously, noting that the Masterharper was wearing a clean change of clothes.

"Healer Neldar was kind enough to warn me." Degal said with a sardonic smile, holding out his hand for his rucksack. "Scared our soprano half out of her skin when the green flit appeared directly in front of her like that, if the note she hit was any indication." He chuckled, and settled the rucksack over his shoulder.

"Oh no," B'ton could easily imagine the scene, particularly given the soprano's reputation for being something of a drama queen. He mounted Wubath, who, pulling the incident from the Masterharper's mind rumbled aloud, leaping skyward.

* * *

"How's Lithvu?" Namul asked Neldar, as the healer checked the assorted road rashes the wherhandler had incurred. The injured Harper had been flown to HealerHall.

"He's lost a lot of blood, in addition to that hand of his. Healer Rueward is a master of phlebotomy however, so he should live to give his account." Neldar replied factually, then noticed Namul's strickened expression. "It's not your fault. When harpers are bent on risking their own hides all the wise can do is get out of their way." He informed the handler tersely.

"He's right, Lithvu acted the idiot. " Fulsa agreed, holding Namul's free hand in her own, a little possessively, before frowning at him. "But I should like to know why _you_ ignored Scout's warning."

"Because we thought it was a feral wher." Namul replied and winced as Neldar applied the stinging redwort to another abraded area. "If Scout had seen Redell, I'd have knocked Lithvu over the head myself." He shuddered, "there is no way I would willingly go anywhere near him without a Flight of dragons at my back. What I'd like to know is how he managed to get back, and how he got ahold of a wher egg."

"That makes two of us, then." Lord Kestle grumbled, entering the little clinic. The wherhandlers hurriedly stood, and remained standing as the elderly Lord Holder was followed by the Masterharper and the Weyrleader.

"Sit, sit, you've more than earned it." Degal said, and with a nod at the healer commandeered his desk, pulling out a heavy leather tome and several sheets of new vellum.

"Are you certain it was Redell of Ruatha, who was found guilty of murdering his father and Lord Holder Uncle?" Kestle asked, having seated himself in the only other chair in the room. Namul, sitting on the triage table nodded.

"It was more than a decade ago, I admit, but Namusk and I were hired to ensure that none of his followers tried to break him out during the trial. I saw him watch us every night." He shivered. "He didn't have any dragon kin then, but now he has two queens and the largest bronze wher that Pern has ever seen. Exiling him isn't going to work this time."

"Didn't work last time." Fulsa muttered softly.

"No, it didn't," Sharp eared Degal agreed with a grimace. "_That_, we'll have to look into. But for now, tell me everything, from when you left to rather startling return."

Namul nodded and took a deep breath before launching into his tale with the dispassion of a trained Watchman. Kestle and Degal listened equally unmoved, but B'ton grew increasingly fascinated as the wherhandler described the encounter, particularly the part where Telgarsk flamed and Namusk took the men _between._

"Can I presume that if your watchwhers have all the same draconic abilities, then so too does Redell's beast?" B'ton asked when Namul finished. The wherhandlers and Kestle visibly shuddered.

"Theoretically, yes." Fulsa replied thoughtfully, "although I very much doubt he's trained his bronze in the fine art of firestoning, or going _between_."

"I disagree." Namul countered with a shake of his head. "Our whers figured out on their own how to go _between _on their own, it's an inherent trait in all dragonkind. Whether Redell had learned the trick of projecting where he wants to go or is relying on his fire lizards as intermediaries is the real question."

"Well, that flew entirely over my head." Degal remarked, putting his quill down. "Care to explain what you mean to this thick headed violin maker?"

"Going _between_ is as simple for fire lizards as breathing is for you or me." B'ton spoke up. "Lizards don't get lost. Dragons can, and have died as a result, because we riders didn't give them a clear enough picture of where to go _between_ to." The wherhandlers nodded. "It is possible for a one dragon to mentally give another dragon the image of the place that they're going to, we call that using an intermediary. Dragons _can_ get directions from fire lizards and watchwhers, but I'm thinking that the whers might have an easier time of it, getting their directions from fire lizards, than our dragons do." Again the wherhandlers nodded.

"Meaning Redell might be relying on his golds for directions rather than providing them to his wher himself?" Degal was not a stupid man, and recognized the implications in these degrees of difference.

"_Betweening_ is terribly dangerous to the uninitiated." Namul added. "I had the good fortune of being able to ask a Weyrlingmaster about the process, and then have him teach Namusk and myself how to. Fulsa had figured out the theory on it before we met, but she hadn't tried directing Telgarsk's jumps before I taught her how." He grimaced. "Most wherhandlers don't know how to direct a jump, other than to ask their whers to go someplace they've been before, like we would a fire lizard. Which, given how dangerous it is, that's probably a good thing."

Degal rubbed his chin, thinking that information over. "Then for now, we can hope Redell stays in fairly predictable areas." He sighed, and picked up his quill again.

* * *

**_Please let me know if you find any grammatical or spelling errors._**

_**I'm going to end up getting a little more esoteric as this fic continues, and at some point, probably in the follow up fic,** _Wherleader**_, I'm going to abandon all pretense of canon and adopt terminology from McCaffery's Pegasus and Talent series. I apologize if that bothers the purists out there._**


	23. Chapter 23

Jurille woke before dawn, and wondered what roused her.

_You asked me to._ Graesth murmured in her mind, her shadowed bulk on the weyr ledge, Wubath having spent the night on the Hatching Sands, a novel experience for the bronze.

_So I did._ Jurille yawned softly, so as to not rouse B'ton, who had returned late the night before, slipped out of his bed, tucking the sleeping furs around him. She smiled fondly down at him, lingering for a moment, then dressed and climbed on Graesth's neck. "Ista, please, dear heart."

_Shall we arrive in time for breakfast?_ Graesth asked slyly, transferring between before Jurille could tell her no.

Dawn in Ista was warm, even at altitude, causing Jurille to loosen her riding jacket as Graesth landed. On the floor of the Bowl the weyrlings were already hard at work, filling bags with firestone. Belatedly Jurille remembered that during the hot season Istans often rose during the cool of the night to work by the light of the two moons until the morning sun became too hot to work in. By that virtue the cotton clad Weyrfolk would soon be sitting down for a second breakfast. Jurille smiled a little self-deprecatorily, and slid off Graesth, who asked coyly if she might go and sun herself. Knowing Graesth wanted to show off in front of the Istan bronzes Jurille laughed and told her to have fun.

"You're punctual" Brinda said by way of greeting, coming out of the Lower Cavern's entrance, a babe in her arms.

"Ooo, who's the little one?" Jurille asked, taking the moment to indulge in her maternal response to the child's presence. Her children, all three were grown and with children (and a couple dragons) of their own.

"One of Benden's. Her aunt smuggled her out of the Hold, and her mother had told her mate that she had died. " Brinda's expression spoke volumes about what she thought of the whole business.

"At least she survived. So many others haven't been so lucky," Jurille replied sadly.

"You've encountered that too? Pity. So, what should we call her?" Brinda asked, arching an eyebrow at her. Jurille looked surprised. "Not even a name...?" She shook her head. "Well, she's the daughter of the Weyr now, why not Isden?"

"Hmm... honors both the adoptive home and the father's Weyr... I like it. Isden it is." Brinda cradled the baby in one arm and waved her with her free hand. "Couragth tells me you haven't broken fast yet. Come, dine with me." Brinda led her out of the Bowl and into the cool of the Lower Caverns. In the corner closest to the _klah_ pitchers four other silver-haired queenriders sat, chatting and laughing. Seeing Brinda's guest there was a round of greetings, as the core of the Magnificent Eight made Jurille feel welcome. One of the weyrlings brought her a plate of sliced fruit, flat bread and cold cuts, with a sourfruit dipping sauce.

"So what brings you to see a group of greyheads?" Brinda asked, settling down to feed Isden.

"I have a problem." As succinctly as she could, Jurille explained Ofsee's story and her plea. The queenriders thought about it for a moment, sipping their klah.

"I think the answers simple. You must remove those greenriders." Kenbib, formerly of High Reaches said. The other queenriders nodded in agreement.

"Shouldn't the request come from Kimi?" Jurille asked, fretting about overstepping her authority.

"Ideally, yes, but nothing about this situation is ideal." Diretta, originally of Igen explained. "Any queenrider, regardless of rank, can request a transfer of dragonpairs for the good of the Weyr." She shrugged. "In the past we've done so to keep from inbreeding, but we have also moved dragonpairs that would suffer under current Weyrlearship."

"You mean like D'nae?" Jurille asked carefully.

"Yes, bad business, that. I was certain C'seld wouldn't be Weyrleader after that stunt." Garkis, of Benden remarked with a sour look. "I had warned Th'cry about him. Pity he had to catch Thread like that."

"Th'cry was one of Lothu's sons." Kenbib murmured sorrowfully.

"Is that the end of her bloodline? I can't remember." Tiny Ryla asked.

"No, her other son lives." Brinda looked at Jurille. "How is L'stur these days?"

"Quite well. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he's enjoying his semi-retirement. Who's Lothu?" Jurille replied. The other queenriders grew silent.

"Lothu is why Pern is Threadfree today." Ryla said quietly.

"Harpers sing of the Magnificent Eight when they should sing of nine." Brinda further explained. "You know part of this story. How we were all Searched together, and how all of us Impressed within four Turns? Well, Lothu Impressed first, at Telgar."

"My Timith was her Bravth's daughter." Ryla added with a small smile.

"She kept us together, and treated us like sisters." Diretta added. "You were but a babe at the time, you couldn't possibly remember the state Pern was in on the eve of the Pass, but Pern was bitterly divided. A goodly half of the Lord Holders didn't believe that Thread was returning, and all sides were vying to put one of their own Bloodlines into the vacant Lord Holder position in Fort. People were actually being murdered for who they supported for Hold leadership. To make matters worse, Craft leadership was poisoned and deathly ill following a Congress, and the Masterharper and Masterhealer kidnapped. The Holds responded by building up their Watches from a few dozen men to troops numbering in the hundreds, many of them pulled from smaller holdings. Pern was marching towards the unthinkable, war." Diretta fell silent, sipping her _klah_ as Jurille absorbed that information.

"The dragons knew better, of course." Rheumatic Verney wheezed, joining them at the table. Another chair was brought over and the queenrider eased into her seat, waving off the offer for breakfast.

"Came to see our guest, not eat," she told the Istan headwoman testily, shooing the younger woman away. "Always trying to fatten me up, heh," she grumbled, and the other queenriders smiled at the threadbare refrain. Verney tapped her cane. "The dragons knew though, and within four Turns we were all riding gold." She frowned for a moment thinking back. "Lothu more than treated us as sisters, she saved our lives. We all knew our lives were forfeit if we left the Weyr. No one was neutral in the ascension of Lord Demar to Fort Hold, not even the Weyrs, although they strove their hardest..." She accepted with ill grace the cup of _klah_ the headwoman placed in front of her.

"My family's cothold was burned to the ground." Asvi said softly. "Lothu insisted the survivors stay in the Lower Caverns, until I impressed. " She flashed a small smile at Jurille.

"Lothu was originally of Nerat, her mother was Store Mistress, her father the Hold's blacksmith. She recognized better than any of us what was going on, and early enough to save us from those who sought to deprive our queens of riders." Ryla added.

"Lothu taught us to think and act as one, something queens had not done in... oh, centuries. When the eastern alliance marched on the west, we flew as a Wing to stop them." Brinda continued.

"Easily the most foolish thing we ever did, landing our queens between two mercenary armies." Verney grumbled.

"But it worked." Countered Garkis, as a brown fire lizard landed on the table and looked around hopefully. Jurille was about to move her plate away when Verney pat her lap. The brown walked across the table and hopped into her lap, crooning softly as she pet him.

"Aye, Lothu would have led the charge herself, had she still been with us then." Brinda said, putting the empty bottle down on the table and placing Isden to her shoulder, to burp her.

"She was dead by then?" Jurille asked. Several queenriders nodded.

"Two Turns gone by then. Died in childbirth. Indeed, we thought we were going to lose little Lostur for a while. We were lucky, one of the women in the Lower Caverns was just weaning her daughter, none of us knew what to do with a motherless babe, and Healer Hall was still refusing us." Ryla explained solemnly.

"About that, how did that come about?" Jurille asked, feeling somewhat lacking in her Weyr history.

"Are you familiar with the ballad _The Masterharper's Last Stand_?" Jurille nodded, for the ballad was the original score that the _Randy Rider and Lusty Ladyholder_ was based on.

"Well, aside from changing the hero's dragon from an egg-laden queen to bronze, things played out as the ballad goes. The Masterharper managed to get a message out to where he and the Masterhealer were being held, Lord Kestle mounted the rescue party, Telgarsk and the bronze watchwher fought, and when the enemy archer shot at the rescuing dragon, the Masterharper deliberately stepped between the fatal arrow and Lothu." Garkis concluded, refilling her mug.

"Lothu? She risked her queen to a rescue attempt?" Jurille was floored by the audacity, and yet admiring too.

"Yes. And the Masterhealer she saved? She was the Masterharper's mate, and blamed the Weyrs for his death, recalling all her people, until she was recalled from her Mastery by a petition of all the healers on Pern, following Lothu's death." Brinda explained as little Isden let out a tremendous burp.

"Even her death served to unite Pern." Kenbib sighed, and the other queenriders nodded.

"A toast to fallen friends," Asvi suggested, and they all raised their mugs.

* * *

Charel woke at dawn, as was her habit, and after reassuring herself that Vaeth was deeply asleep, rose and dressed. The Bowl was misty, not too badly but enough to obscure things at a distance. The kitchen was quiet, but the night hearth still glowed red, and the slow simmering stew made for a hearty breakfast. Charel ate quickly, for after a lifetime of shared meals the silence was a little lonely. With nothing more to do, Charel opted for a bath. Trotting back to the Barracks for her bathing kit, she cut across the Hatching Grounds, only to surprise herself and Wubath by almost running into the bronze.

"Oh, apologies." She bowed like she might meeting the Lord Holder, and Wubath's eyes, shining blue whirled a little faster.

_Nothing to apologize for, bluerider._

Charel wasn't entirely certain, but she suspected there was humor in his tone. "Ah, well then, good morning." She shifted a little on the hot sands. "May I inquire as to how you slept?"

_Rather comfortably._ He rose, back arched and wings extended. Charel watched him admiringly, then noticed the faint latticework of scar tissue patterned over his hind quarters.

_They do not hurt, bluerider._ Wubath informed her, peering down at her as he settled back on the Sands. _Although they sometimes itch. _He emphasized his point by scratching.

"Do they itch right now? I can get some oil." Charel was halfway across the Bowl before she heard him reply. _That would be very nice._ Charel nipped over to the common Stores, and retrieved an oil pot, trotting back to the waiting bronze. He sat perfectly still as she cracked the wax seal, checking to make sure the oil hadn't turned, and applied it with careful diligence to the ropey scars. Wubath let out such a gusty sigh that she giggled.

_Thank you, bluerider. _Wubath rumbled, very gently touching his snout to her forehead, just like Telgarsk had.

"You're very welcome... ah, as happy as I am to be Vaeth's rider, I don't mind if you use my name."

_You've decided on one then?_ Wubath asked, and Charel blinked, unaware that anyone knew of her dilemma.

_It confused Vaeth, so he asked us about it._ Wubath explained as Charel rubbed the back of her neck.

"Ah. Might I ask you for your advice too?"

_Certainly._  
"Do you remember the names of the first greenriders?"

_No. But the Weyrwoman keeps a book that has that information._

"Huh. I'll have to ask her about that the next time I see her." Charel reflected. "But the practice _is_ to shorten one's name when they Impress, right?"

_Yes. Some riders change their names entirely, if the shortened name is too similar to another in the Weyr._

"Really? I didn't know that." Charel considered that tidbit for a moment. "My folks call me Charrie, although my full name is Charel."

_You are not interested in either of those._ Wubath observed.

"Not really. Charrie's a kid's name, but if I shorten Charel the traditional way, Ch'rel, it might confuse non-Weyrfolk into thinking I'm a boy." She explained.

_Is that a bad thing?_

"It might be. I know there's going to be problems with folk accepting a girl on a fighting color." She sighed sadly.

_Queens fight._

"Yes, but they breed too. And Vaeth, as much as I love him, is never going to clutch." Charel grinned at the bronze whose eyes whirled even faster with mirth. "But I was thinking I wanted to honor the naming tradition, and adopt a one syllable name." She frowned faintly. "I just can't decide if I should go with Char or Rel."  
_What does Vaeth think?_

Charel grimaced, then smiled sheepishly up at the massive bronze.

"He does this." And mentally sent him a burst of affection. Wubath rumbled aloud this time, a draconic chuckle of sorts.

_He is still a baby, bluerider-with-too-many-names. _He teased her, and Charel ducked her head, grinning as Zandur emerged from the mists, heading towards the senior Queen's weyr. Wubath looked over at the Weyrhealer, then back at Charel.

_Go to the Weyrhealer, bluerider. He will want assistance shortly, and you are the only other person awake._

"Oh, yes sir." Charel turned to leave, still holding the oil pot.

_Leave the pot._ Wubath added._ I will see that it is taken care of._

"Thank you." Charel placed the pot on the ground next to the bronze, and hurried over to the Weyrhealer.

* * *

**_If you see any spelling or grammatical errors, please inform me._**

**_Anne once mentioned in an interview with Science Fiction Magazine that Dragons could talk to anyone they wished to, they simply didn't wish to very often. That said, there's no reason Wubath wouldn't decide to converse with the only other sentient awake in the Weyr. And no, Charel can't hear all dragons. _**


	24. Chapter 24

_Preocith comes._ Graesth warned as Streth, Diretta's queen, warbled a greeting. Jurille turned in her seat, then rose to greet Meredad, the senior queenrider of Igen as she loosened her flying gear in the heat.

"Felicitations and greetings," she opened cordially enough, "what's so important that has me timing it while Igen flies Fall?"

"I'm sorry, my dear." Diretta said, offering her a cup of chilled fruit juice, "but Ista and Telgar's hands are tied, and _we_," the slight emphasis suggested the Magnificent Eight, "knew you were the cleverest timer amongst us."

"Ooo, flattery. This is going to be trouble, isn't it?" Meredad retorted with a grin. "Alright then, I'm in, so long as it doesn't involve any long jumps." She winked at Jurille. "I can't hold my breath as long as I used to."

"How far back do you jump?" Jurille asked, sitting back down.

"Not back, forward." Meredad's smile slipped. "I had to get blight resistant numbweed seed, and the only place it existed in quantity is halfway through the Interval." She finished the juice with a long gulp. "And if you tell any harper, I'll denounce it, loudly."

"Duly noted." Jurille replied with a small shake of her head. Brinda coughed politely.

"Right then, what and when do you need fetched?"  
"Three women, and their green dragonets that Impressed yesterday." Diretta explained. "And you need to deliver them to Telgar the night of their next Hatching." She looked to Jurille.

"Wilth will rise on or about the solstice, so... check in with me on the vernal equinox?" She suggested. Meredad nodded, then asked. "And when am I to raid Benden?" Garkis, glanced over at the entrance, gauging the length of the shadows. "In an hour, when the Wings are fully involved in Fall. And take brown Wingseconds you trust, no bronzes. L'rach, the Weyrlingmaster will help you if you run into him, but you must be in and out quickly."

Meredad nodded solemnly, then smiled. "Consider it done." She saluted the other queenriders, a fist over her heart, and turned on her heel, whistling a jaunty tune.

"And I worried about her," Diretta chuckled. "No fears, Jurille, you won't find a more daring, or cautious timer than our Meredad, for all that she gave me repeated near heart attacks as a Weyrling."

"Oh?" Jurille asked, willing to have her fears calmed by the older queenrider.

"Aye. She's the only rider I've ever known to figure out how to go _between_ before her queen could truly fly." Diretta's theatrical sigh was not lost on Jurille.

"I hadn't heard this tale."

"You recall the exercise where the dragonets walk around the Bowl with their riders mounted?" Jurille and the other queenriders nodded. "Meredad gets this _brilliant_ idea, and had her queen walk out to the feeding pens. On the day a tithe herd arrived."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes. And one of the panicked bulls charged them." Diretta paused to sip her _klah_.

"And that's when she went _between_?" Jurille shuddered at the thought of an undirected jump.

"Not just _between_, she timed the jump so she came out at sunset, when, in her words 'it would be safe.'"

"Oh... dear..." Was all Jurille could muster, as the other queenriders laughed softly, having heard the story before.

"The thing is, she became much more careful after that. Even when she made her hop forward, she only did that after careful consideration, and talking to that star harper. You'll get those weyrlings Jurille, make no mistake. Just make sure you stand some girls as candidates as well." Diretta said, and Jurille laughed.

"Is Gaesth telling on me?" She asked with a smile.

_Never._

"No, but we're all probably thinking the same thing." Kenbib replied, smiling. "This close to the end of the Pass, it is time to return woman to the ranks of fighting colors." Jurille leaned forward, avidly curious.

"Why were they ever removed?"

"Pregnancy mostly, I think." Asvi said. "It's hard to fight Fall when a full quarter of your Flight is too gravid to fly." The queenriders shared a pained look, each remembering the problems with growing girths and tightening fighting straps.

"Still, female greenriders were certainly preferred over their male counterparts in the Interval. Everything I have read suggests that they were viewed as being less... colorful, shall we say? than male greenriders." Ryla said dipping her cold cuts in the sourfruit sauce.

"Hmm. That is certainly something to bring up at the next Queens' Meet." Brinda mused.

* * *

"What can I do for yo-" Zandur thrust his heavy black bag into her arms without really looking at her, then paused and gave her a searching look when she grunted.

"You're not C'bay." He stated flatly.

"Sorry." Charel replied, not feeling terribly sorry. Zandur waved impatiently.

"Don't dawdle then." He said sourly, and Charel trotted after him as he hurried past Jenlth without a word. The queen cracked an eyelid, her great faceted eye green with curiosity, and mentally Charel whispered an apology. Deerith snorted and closed her eyes, falling back asleep.

"Up Ofsee, you must move." He demanded of his patient.

"Ow, you're too rough." Ofsee whined tiredly as Charel placed the bag on the bedside table, and turned to help the pregnant woman to her feet. Zandur glanced at Charel, noting the technique.

"You've seen this done before, girl?" He asked in a slightly less testy voice.

"Ma's a healer." Charel offered, and staggered a little as Ofsee found her balance.

"Educated help, how refreshing." Zandur's response still sounded sour. Once upright Ofsee was directed through a series of stretching exercises. By the end of them she was dripping sweat, and Charel moped her brow with a damp cloth as she sat back down.

"H-how often?" Ofsee stammered.

"Before each meal. If you need the company of someone who's already gone through this, have Nene help you. Although..." Zandur looked speculatively at Charel. "If you're up before your dragon, girl, you should come by and help Ofsee. These exercises won't hurt you to do."

"Yes sir." Charel replied as Ofsee looked at her in unveiled surprise.

"You're the girl that Impressed a blue?" She asked, still puffing from the exertion. Charel nodded, resigned to the reaction. What she did not expect was when Ofsee pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her forehead.

"Good on you," she told Charel. "Don't let anyone ever tell you that you can't do something." She added fiercely.

* * *

B'ton surprised the wherhandlers by showing up the following evening. Telgarsk still stunk of firestone and Namusk was overdue for a bath so the wherhandlers had a large kettle warming water when the watchwhers awoke.  
B'ton grinned broadly as the watchwhers stretched and crooned, arching their backs in delight as Namul and Fulsa attacked each and every crevasse with fierce determination and sweetsand.

"You're welcome to join us, Lord B'ton," Fulsa called, from under one of Telgarsk's wings.

"Alright," B'ton entered the wher enclosure and grabbed a handful of sand, applying it to Namusk's back. The green thrummed with such pleasure that Telgarsk turned to look, then made a whining noise.

"Telly, you big baby." Fulsa chided her wher, who looked at her and snorted indignantly. "You can wait your turn. Besides there's less of Namusk to clean, and then all three of us can scrub your between your toes." The blue perked up and burbled cheerfully. "Gotta admit, never thought I'd see the day a Weyrleader cleaned a watchwher," she teased the bronzerider.

"I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that there is more to your dragonkin than is given credit." B'ton replied, studying the pebbly hide under his hands.

"Ah, another convert." Namul replied, grinning at Fulsa who stuck her tongue out at him.

"Although, I do wonder, if your whers can go between, why don't you bathe them on say, a sandy beach in Ista?" B'ton asked.

"Easy, neither of us has ever been to Ista." Fulsa replied.

"And the only places I got to Southern Boll were the mountains." Namul added.

"And," Fulsa poured a bucket over Telgarsk's wing, "you forget that whers are territorial, so taking a jaunt to the seaside runs the risk of running into another wher's territory."

"How then are these two able to share a territory?" B'ton asked, getting that hard to reach area that whers apparently shared with dragons.

"They don't, technically. Telly's territory is the Hold and Lord Holder's family, whereas Namusk's is the Watch," Fulsa grinned.

"It probably doesn't hurt that they're mates." Namul added.

"So territory is partly determined by you?" B'ton asked, as Namusk crooned.

"It would stand to reason." Namul said, rinsing the green's neck. "Feral whers are always territorial over land, but Impressed whers can travel around, like the ones bonded to Traders."

"And because the Lord Holder's family is part of Telly's territory, that's why I and not Namul ride around with Lady Minket." Fulsa made a face as Telgarsk head-butted her. "Fine, fine, so you like the Lady Holder."

"And you don't?" B'ton asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's not that, she just irritated me, her priorities are skewed. The boys go to every Hatching in the hopes of an in stands Impression, but the girls only ever get to go if there's a queen egg. Ketke, her second eldest is great with the whers, but she wouldn't _dream_ of letting him train to be a handler, even though I'd pen that letter of recommendation to the queenwher myself if she would. None of the girls are allowed a fire lizard, 'least they shirk their duties', but all the boys got their fire lizards, bronzes and browns all of them, on their eighth Naming Day. Mistle's got a real talent for healing craft, but no daughter of Minket's is going to waste her prime breeding years learning healercraft." Fulsa huffed.

"You did ask." Namul reminded B'ton, who chuckled.

"So I did." He grinned unabashedly at Fulsa. "I wonder how she'll take the news that we're going to start standing girls on the Sands for fighting colors?"

"You are?" Fulsa looked up. "It's about time." She returned to scrubbing between Telgarsk's headknobs then grinned wickedly. "Can I be the one to tell her?"

* * *

**_There is much more to add to the conversation with the wherhadlers and B'ton but I'm going to have to break that conversation in half. Apologies._**

**_If you see any spelling or grammatical errors please point them out posthaste._**

**_Is anyone interested in a one shot about the Magnificent Eight?_**


	25. Chapter 25

"It's a good thing you were never searched," B'ton laughed as Namul rolled his eyes. "There isn't a Weyr that wouldn't tremble at your name."

"Hah, they already do." Fulsa retorted, smiling. "Okay Telly." With a happy croon the blue flopped down and rolled onto his back, waving all four clawed feet in the air. B'ton watched with amazed bemusement as Fulsa put a new handful of sand between each toe and rubbed as the wher writhed with pleasure.

"Wondering if Wubath would like a foot bath?" Namul asked.

_Absolutely not. _The bronze informed all three of them and Telgarsk made a funny compressed snorting sort of noise. Fulsa giggled.

"Oh~ pray tell, Terror of Telgar." Namul asked, working the sudsing sand into Namusk's neck ridge.

"Telly just said 'more for him'". Fulsa said, as the wher drooled in pleasure.

Wubath snorted in B'ton's mind.

_What do you think of whers? _B'ton asked his bronze.

_They are our cousins, although bred to a different purpose._ Wubath replied candidly. _It is people who put a judgment value on them. They are very intelligent, if at times difficult to understand._

_You have a hard time understanding whers?_ B'ton blinked at that little revelation.

_Unimpressed ones are the hardest to understand. Those with particularly stupid handlers are also difficult to understand._

Namul and Fulsa shared a glance.

"What's your bronze telling you?" Fulsa asked, and B'ton flushed, realizing he let the conversation lapse.

"Ah, Wubath was just explaining that some whers are harder to converse with than others."

The wherehandlers nodded, not seeming surprised by that tidbit.

"Wild ones, right?" Namul asked over his shoulder, as he fetched another bucket of water. "Namusk doesn't like talking to them either."

"Why's that?" B'ton queried, rubbing a wing knob clean.

_Because their thoughts are unfocused, like a baby's._ Wubath supplied, causing all the humans to blink.

"Is that the case for you too?" Fulsa asked Telgarsk, who nodded from his wallow on the ground.

"One more point in favor to your theory, love." Namul said, carefully pouring the warm water down Namusk's neck and back. The green shook all over, sending the water flying.

"Oh, you have a theory?" B'ton teased, ignoring the splashing as Namul fussed at his wher. Namusk arched her neck coyly.

"Which one?" Fulsa grinned, moving on to the next foot.

"Wher intelligence. Whenever we insist that the whers are smart-" _They are._ "-some dimglow _always_ brings up the Beast of Bitra." Namul sighed, and B'ton winched sympathetically.

"But I think, if anything, it proves my point. The Beast's handler was, by all accounts, the Hold idiot. He was only given the wher egg because some fool lost it in a game of cards and no one else wanted it. Result? A mentally deficient brown wher that has the hardest time preforming even the simplest of watchwher duties." Fulsa explained. "It's really a shame it didn't bond with anyone else, and went between when his handler died." Fulsa sighed, and slapped the side of Telgarsk's leg. He offered her another foot.

"Some would call that admirable loyalty." B'ton said quietly, thinking of the two hatchlings.

"I suppose it is that too." Fulsa amended sanding the pad of Telgarsk's foot. "But when I go, I expect Telly to stick around long enough to make sure everything is in good order before making that long jump _between._"

* * *

Charel's days fell into routine. She'd wake at early, dress and eat, then help Ofsee up and through her exercises. When those were done, provided Vaeth was still asleep, she'd fetch breakfast for the queenrider, and carve Vaeth's breakfast, and anything more the kitchen might ask for. Feeding Vaeth took less time, now that the little blue had figured out the mechanics of chewing, and Weyrling lessons would take the rest of the morning. Lunch would roll around, and Lybae would find her and share the latest news, although now that the Weyr was rendering numbweed some lunch meetings consisted of little more than a friendly wave at one another. After lunch more lessons, with either the Weyrhealer or Weyrharper. Vaeth would need to be fed again before dinner, then Charel could relax and recount the day's events with Lybae. Lybae proved to be an invaluable source of information, both for Weyrlife, and events across Pern, and her friendship opened Charel to the company of other weyrling girls her age, something Tress quietly encouraged. Charel, unaware that Jurille had passed on Gwedli's impassioned plea to Tress, attributed it to the open nature of the Weyr, and the rumor that girls were going to be allowed to stand at the next Hatching, regardless of a queen egg. Charel found no end of eager girls wanting to hear about Vaeth's training, and just as eager to share their own experiences, growing up around dragons and fire lizards alike. And, although raised to be humble, Charel relished the evenings when she could talk about her Vaeth, although common sense told her that she would soon be listening to some of her friends brag on their dragonets.

The only change to this routine was Threadfall, and then the Weyrlings and weyrlings alike spent the morning bagging firestone, and their afternoons in Weyrling lessons. The day of Fall was always a little random. If Fall was in the morning, then the afternoon was spent helping the riders clean their dragons. If Fall was in the afternoon, then there were lessons with the Weyrharper in the morning, and everyone worked into the night to clean the dragons. Most Falls, Charel noted, tended towards afternoon and early evening, but all ended by sunset.

"I wonder why Thread never falls at night." She mentioned to Lybae over dinner one night, as older dragonriders laid bets on the first frost. She had brought her most recent letter from home with her, intent on writing her family before calling it a night.

"I don't know why," Lybae admitted, "but it never has."

"I bet Harper Valtree knows." Clakessa, Lybae's foster sister said.

"It has something to do with the rotation of Pern." Shy Thelil said. Thelil was actually a Turn older than Charel, and had a passion for astronomy that caused Valtree to lobby to have her sponsored at Harperhall. "I-I could look it up, if you'd like," she offered hesitantly.

"I'd love to know, if you have the time." Charel replied, encouragingly. Of all the girls that routinely shared dinner with her, Thelil was the only one who never said much. Lybae had told Charel in a moment of privacy that the older girl was found by a sweeprider after a Fall, turned out of her Hold by an irate Holder who accused the eight Turn old of pilfering food. The Weyr had taken her in but she was always timid thereafter. Charel had come to like the girl despite her timidity and often included her in whatever task she was engaged in, be it writing a letter or tending to Vaeth's needs.

"What are you writing your folks about?" Lybae asked, savoring her pudding.

"I'm telling Ma about Ofsee's babies." The queenrider had birthed twins in the early morning hours the day before.

"Are you going to tell her about about C'seld?" Clakessa asked, stirring more sweetening into her _klah_.

The Benden Weyrleader had flown in a week before, shortly after the second wave was called for change over, intent on collecting his missing queenrider. The only obstacle to his success was her very angry queen, who had backed up against the Bowl entrance and spread her wings flat to the wall, forbidding him admittance. The only other dragons in the Weyr at the time were the dragonets. In a mind boggling show of support every dragonet woke from a sound sleep and raced to protect the Benden queen. Charel's head buzzed, not for excitement, but the sheers volume of dragon mindvoices, not speaking words but emotion.

Turning, C'seld found himself surrounded by hissing dragonets. He snarled, and Vaeth, her darling, sweet tempered blue snapped as he made another step towards the growling queen. Enraged, the bronzerider raised his fist, and with an inarticulate shout Charel grabbed a firestone shovel and stepped between the two, fully intent on doing the much larger man bodily harm.

"**HOLD!**"

Weyrling and rider both froze as Zandur stalked across the Bowl, his towering rage as palpable as the dragons'.

"You, C'seld- you are out of order!" he snapped his chronic wheeze vanished in his fury, his voice closer to the deadly hiss of the queen dragon. "And you!" He grabbed the shovel out of Charel's hands, "go tend your blue." He ordered roughly as Charel backpedaled to her still hissing dragonet.

"I demand to see Ofsee!" C'seld ordered, ignoring the offending girl and her blue.

"You can demand all you want – you're not seeing her." Zandur shot back. "She is too ill, and as a healer you lot answer to me, not the other way around." The two men of equal height stood toe to toe, staring unblinkingly at each other.

Then, the air was full of gold dragons. Charel sank to her knees, buckling under the combined weight of twenty angry queens. Vaeth whined slightly, and extended his wings as if to shelter her. Blindly Charel reached for him, and the relief she felt when her fingers touched his skin was immediate. She still felt the fear and anger as strongly as before, but now the pressure, the weight of those emotions was bearable. Charel tightened her arm around Vaeth's neck, clinging to him.

One gold, more bronze than gold with age, landed. C'seld's bronze, towering over the dragonets a moment ago was curled up into a near fetal ball, under the queens' combined fury.

Brinda slid off Couragth and strode over to the two men, almost shaking from anger.

"You gutless son of a tunnel snake." She hissed lowly, although her voice carried to the Weyrlings closest to them.

"Stay out of this, hag!" C'seld spat, and was rewarded with a slap to his face by Brinda.

"You will respect my experience, if not my authority, pup," she snarled. "Ofsee is to stay here until the baby is born, by the Masterhealer's orders, not mine, not Jurille's. You force her _between_ now and not only will you cause her to lose the baby, and her own life, every dragon here will set upon your dragon until the _only_ escape for your pathetic hide's the long jump _between_!"

C'seld, his hand to his smarting cheek, was not cowed. "I see what you're up to, first my queen, then my greens. You think I don't recognize the Eight's med-?"

"What are you talking about, 'your greens'? Brinda demanded, hands on her hips. "Isn't your harem big enough? Flying all those queens, you should be ashamed taking on new lovers!"

"They aren't my lovers, they're my Weyrlings! Telgar stole them!" He yelled back.

"Look around you, dimglow, every dragonet in the Weyr is here. Do you see your greenriders?"

C'seld glanced around, and for the first time seemed to recognize that all the Weyrlings were indeed boys. For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face.

"Now, get on your bronze and return to your Weyr. You are not welcome here." Brinda ordered calmly, although her expression promised a very bloody outcome if he refused. Stiffly, C'seld turned on his heel and walked back to his dragon, who uncurled just long enough for him to mount, going _between_ from the ground rather than fly the gauntlet of irate queens above.

"Thank you." Zandur murmured, his voice low, so only Brinda and Charel heard him. "And thank you for the promotion." He added sardonically.

"Nonsense. You'd have been Masterhealer if Cici hadn't been cuter in a dress." Brinda replied almost absently. Zandur snorted laughter. "How's Ofsee?"

"I go to find out." Zandur turned and marched up to Deerith, who recognizing the healer, folded her wings. Brinda turned to address the still hovering Wing of queens.

"Thank you, sisters. It should be safe enough for you to return to whatever task I called you from." Charel heard her soft words repeated, as if from a great distance, and singly and in pairs the sky above the Bowl emptied of golds. Brinda turned and searched the crowd until her gaze settled on Vaeth and Charel. She walked over to the dragonpair, and Vaeth peered up at her, still shielding Charel with an oiled wing.

"Vaeth and... bluerider with the heart of a gold." Brinda's tone was light, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling with amusement. Charel looked up and wiped her face on her sleeve.

"L-lady..." She cast about for the queenrider's name. _Brinda._ A voice, rich with age helpfully provided. "Lady Brinda," she started anew.

"Just Brinda, youngster, we're all dragnfolk here. No need for titles." She held her hand out to Charel and grateful for the support Charel took it. "But names are helpful." Brinda hinted broadly.

"I- I'm Char." Char decided in that moment. "A-and I was just protecting Vaeth, I'd have never raised my hand against a Weyrleader, I swear." Veath, eyes still glowing yellow streaked with green, leaned against Char, offering wordless encouragement.

"You did precisely as a rider should," Brinda repiled soothingly. "and you, bold Vaeth, you and your clutchmates have done Telgar proud". She turned and surveyed the collected dragonpairs. "You have proven yourselves as true dragons today. No one will doubt your bravery when you fly Fall. But please, for now, return to your duties. The first wave will be returning soon, and they will have need of the succor you can offer." Like the queens moments before the dragonpairs moved off singly and in small knots, the dragonets to finsh their naps, the Weyrlings to return to their stations, heartened by the words of Pern's senior most queenrider.

* * *

**_If you notice any grammatical or spelling errors please let me know._**

**_Additional notes:_**

**_Um... in light of a private message I received I feel the need to remind people that the theory of watchwher intelligence and abilities espoused by my wherhandlers is pure conjecture on my part. I know Anne spared little love for the watchwhers, and with Fulsa and Namul as intermediaries this is the best reason I could come up with for why a creature derived from the same genetic material as the dragons might eventually end up as the pitiful creatures by the 9th Pass. Please understand, I am not trying to rewrite cannon, only suggest a theory that wherhandlers could conceivably come up with on their own. _**

**_To the complaint of turning watchwhers into dragons, I really don't believe that's a fair complaint. Watchwhers were Wind Blossom's attempt to improve upon the design Kitti Ping laid out. As such it makes much more sense that they would have all the same abilities as fire lizards. But as Lessa's rediscovery of going_ between_ times suggests, if the concept is never introduced to the individual, how could the watchwher possibly conceive that it could do such things as teleport, pyrobreath, or even fly? Having said that, it will be rare when I have the watchwhers' teleporting, and they most definitely not be timing it. If you fundamentally disagree with my logic, I apologize, for you are most likely not going to enjoy the rest of this story, nor the follow up, _Wherleader.**


	26. Chapter 26

"No," Char said, "I don't think they'd understand." She smiled sheepishly at her friends. "I'm not sure I understand enough to explain it." That letter, with all the accompanying details had gone to Fulsa and Namul, on beaten sheets of paperplant that the harper had taught the Weyrlings to make. The sheets lacked the give of vellum, which she hoarded for her letters home, and had to be rolled loosely to send by fire lizard or messenger, but she still derived great pleasure from knowing she could make her own.

Fulsa's response had arrived tied to the leg of a blue fire lizard, who preened upon finding her. _Tell Urlyra._

Intimidated by the thought of approaching the queens' table at the meal, Char caught Urlyra as she was leaving lunch. Grateful for any excuse to delay returning to the smelly task of rendering numbweed, Urlyra listen to Char's concerns. Like all the queenriders she had heard of C'seld's aborted attempt to retrieve 'his' errant queen dragonpair, but listening to Char's recounting, particularly of the sensation of weight when describing the arrival of the queenriders, she realized just how close a miss it had been. Fleetingly she wondered if C'seld knew how close he came to being flayed alive by a Wing of gold dragons.

She doubted it.

"And you say physical contact with your dragon lessened the weight?" She asked curiously. Char nodded as Urlyra considered the information. "Interesting. Come find me before dinner."

Jurille and Zandur were with Urlyra when Char reported back, and nervously, she recounted her experience.

"Curious. And you say you herd Couragth repeat Brinda's words?" Jurille asked.

"Yes. But... sometimes the dragons talk to me so I didn't think it was all that important."

"The dragons talk to you? Which ones?" Urlyra asked.

"The watch dragon always says hello in the morning, Wubath sometimes speaks to me if I'm up before the Weyrleader, Mirrth checks in on me, but I think that's because C'bay worries about me, and Deerith always greets me as Char of Vaeth, which Vaeth thinks is just the greatest." The queenriders chuckled appreciatively. "Oh, and the firelizards always send happy thoughts at me, but I don't know iffin' that's because I always leave them a little extra when I carve food for Vaeth. And... sometimes I heard real faintly Telgarsk and Namusk in the evenings, so I think they're checking up on me too." She added the last only because Vaeth had been puzzled by their soft mind touch. Jurille looked confused but Urlyra snorted.

"They have been. Fulsa, my cousin, the wherehandler," she explained for Jurille and Zandur's benefit, "her blue pegged you as a potential candidate, but it looks like Vaeth had other ideas."

"A watchwher?" Jurille looked a little surprised.

"Makes sense to me." Zandur grunted. "Dragons and watchwers were bred from the same source. If one is sensitive to the needs of one dragonkin, then they're sensitive to the needs of all dragonkin. Do you ever hear them when they aren't speaking directly to you?" He asked Char. She shook her head. "'Cept when Brinda was talking, no."

"If Courath was broadcasting her words, Char might not be the only person who heard them." Urlyra pointed out. "But you felt the weight of their anger. Can you often feel their emotions?"

Char bit her lower lip, thinking.

"I... I don't rightly know. I grew up around herdbeasts, and you have to keep a sharp eye on them because their big and can hurt you iffin' you're not paying attention. Because of that I'm always keeping one eye on the dragons, not 'cause they'd mean to hurt me, but 'cause they're so big, you have to respect the space they fill. Pa calls it the law of gross weight." Zandur raised an eyebrow as both queenriders fought not to laugh aloud. "So iffin' I say I know how the dragons are feeling, I don't know iffin' it's because I'm hearing their feelings or 'cause I've been watching their body language." Char explained apologetically.

"Do you know what it means to be empathic?" Jurille asked, smiling. Char scratched her head. "That's when you're aware of other folks feelings? and try not to hurt them?"

Urlyra giggled, then coughed.

"Ignore her." Zandur grumbled when Char looked over at the queenrider worriedly.

"You're half right, sweetling." Jurille explained soothingly. "To be empathic is having the ability to feel the emotions of others. After what you described, we were wondering if you had some latent empathic ability. There's nothing wrong with it, but it's a handy trick to have up your sleeve, particularly if you are still interested in Herdbeasthall when Thread stops falling."

Char suddenly focused on Jurille.

"You mean, I can still attend Hall?" Her voice cracked with hope.

'We have to take the long view here at the Weyr. The pass will end in three short Turns. If you still want-"

"Yes, please yes!" Char interrupted fervently. "I really like animals, even Pa's mean milking ewe- I want to learn everything about them!" She all but pleaded, sending Urlyra into a fit of giggles.

Jurille smiled. "Then you shall."

"Oh thank you!" Char all but danced in glee.

"But first- we'd like you to exercise that talent of yours." Jurille continued.

"Okay, but... how?" Char asked, perplexed.

"Reema's an empathy, I'd like you to work with her, say, tomorrow after dinner?" Jurilla asked and Char nodded.

"Good. Now run along to dinner. I hear the kitchen has made a surprise for us."

* * *

Reelon wiped his brow, and smiled as Tibitha shooed off an overly curious bovine. The twins were helping them stow the half bales of alfalfa into the barn. Farmer Azon had delieved the alfalfa, grown in fields the ovines had grazed the year before, as per their agreement, and had left with his two head of cattle. Gwedli had regained her old vigor by the end of the month, but Reelon forbade her from helping with the heaviest lifting just yet. In her place, Harper Shelt, visiting as part of his rounds, worked the lift. Little Flit sat on a sunny perch, watching the whole operation with mild curiosity.

"Mistress green, if you would be so kind as to call the workers?" Gwedli said to the firelizard, carrying out a tray of snacks, a skin of chilled water hooked to her belt.

Flit soared over the to the barn, warbling as she circled around the men, then Tibitha, and lastly up to the loft where the twins worked.

"Break." Reelon called, and the twins, giggling the whole way, rode the lift down courtesy of the harper.

"Ma made harperbread!" Tibitha announced from the table, beating the rest of them to the food.

"Really?" Shelt grinned. "I haven't had that in a canine's age!"

"Really?" Tibitha asked, unconsciously mimicking him. "We had it last week too." She explained, picking up a triangular wedge of flatbread, with it's thick layer of tom-fruit sauce and cheese.

"Ah! Gracious lady, you have saved this pitiable harper." Shelt flopped into a chair melodramatically as Flit landed on his shoulder, creeling piteously.

Gwedli laughed, and pushed a small dish of slivered wherry meat, left over from making sausages, to the harper.

As the girls and Reelon helped themselves to the harperbread, Gwedli filled their earthenware cups with the chilled water, flavored with mint and hyssop. There was a round of 'to the hostess with the mostest', then they all relaxed, chatting and eating leisurely. Flit chirped suddenly, looking skyward, and Shelt looked up in time to see a dragon pop into existence.

"Is it Charrie?" Tibitha asked, shielding her eyes against the nooning sun.

" No... it's Mirrth!" Relecca identified the green as Reelon put an arm around Gwedli and murmured softly, 'one day, beloved, the answer will be yes.'

* * *

paperplant = papyrus

tom-fruit = tomato

* * *

_**If you find any grammatical or spelling errors, let me know.**_

_**Additionally, I finally got hired - to three part time jobs. I will endeavor to update once a month, but I am much shorter on time these days. That said, I am in no danger of giving up on this story, so no fears.**_


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